Shaelune
by Goldenberry
Summary: A very different Hermione and Malfoy get partnered to study an enchantment while on a field trip at a haunted Irish mansion. Mystery, drama, and romance ensue. With Chapter 11 comes the one thing that can inhibit Hermione's cleverness...
1. Changes and New Opinions

Chapter I- Changes and New Opinions  
  
A/N: Thanks so much, Lulu, Annie, Lyndsey, Chrissy, Leialoha, and Epequa for reviewing! Please continue to do so, if you like the story.  
Basically, my premise for the story is that Malfoy and Hermione have to be partners for this project. Malfoy struggles with his emotions- he thinks he's falling in love with Hermione, but can't give up his old opinion of her. Keep reading for more, and don't hesitate to send suggestions!  
  
  
"I can't believe you actually convinced Dumbledore to do this, Ginny," exclaimed Lavender as she packed the cosmetics strewn about her vanity into a bag.  
"I know! I don't think Hogwarts has actually let us go on field trips before!" Parvati grinned at the youngest Weasley, zipping her duffel bag.  
"And just think about where we're going," said Hermione. "I mean, could it get more interesting? Shaelune is a haunted mansion in Ireland! I hear it's really beautiful there, too."  
"What'd you have for breakfast, Hermione? Travel brochures and hot cocoa?" Ginny asked dryly. She had already packed her clothes and makeup, and was sitting on the foot of her bed, trying to decide between her three-inch black platforms and her two and one-fourth inch black platforms.  
"Oh, shut it, Ginny," retaliated Hermione. Her clothes were neatly rolled and being placed side-by-side in her bag.  
Parvati walked over to Hermione's bed and picked up the dress that was lying there, straight from the cleaners in Hogsmeade. "Hermione, is this what you're planning to wear at the mansion dinner tonight?"  
"Do you see any other dresses in my bag?" Hermione answered.  
Lavender's eyes grew wide when she saw the army-green jumper Parvati was holding up. "You can't seriously be planning on wearing that, Hermione," she said. "I mean, I can see it if it were a different color and without straps and longer, but-"  
"In other words, if it were a different dress," interrupted Hermione. "Look, I don't really care how I look. McGonagall said we would need a dress, so I packed a dress. You don't have to worry about me."  
"But Hermione," said Parvati pityingly. "You're fifteen! I mean, this is a formal occasion. You looked so great at the Yule Ball last year; we know you can look good if you try!"  
"Why should I try?" said an exasperated Hermione. "I had a date for the Yule Ball, and he was a champion. I had to look good. But this is just a field trip with people I've known for four years. I shouldn't have to worry about how I look. No one cares, anyways." At this, she looked a little sad and began once again to concentrate on her packing.   
Ginny sidled over to her bed, wearing a sly smile. "If I were you, Hermione, I wouldn't be so sure. I make the Hogwarts social rounds for this house, and I know of at least two..." she bit her lip playfully and looked meaningfully at Parvati and Lavender, who would know who she was talking about. "... male students who wouldn't mind having you be their date for the Spring Fling."  
Hermione sighed. "Then what do you suggest? That I use magic to make all my clothes stylish?"  
Ginny grinned at the other two girls. "Something like that..."  
  
Whereas four hours before, Hermione Granger had been a pretty girl whose remarkable features had been overshadowed by untamed hair and her nondescript clothes, she boarded the coach also carrying Harry, Ron, and Ginny looking... well... different.  
Her brown sweater and black skirt had been replaced by a fitted, dark-red shirt, laced up the front with a black bodice, and a pair of slim-fitting burgundy trousers. A pair of black platforms graced her feet. Her hair had been fixed into loose, "romantic"(or so Ginny called them) waves, and she had darker auburn highlights. A pair of sunglasses (Lavender had provided them to shield her from the bright afternoon sun) sat upon her forehead, revealing her face and pulling back her hair.  
Ginny smiled and applauded when Hermione, who was glad that the dim light of the coach hid her blushing cheeks, climbed the steps that had unfolded. Harry and Ron had to squint to finally recognize her.   
Harry seemed shocked. "Hermione?!"   
Ron was apparently speechless, but his gaze stayed on her. "What happened to you?" he asked rudely when he had regained his speech.  
"Ginny," Hermione answered simply. She had been unsure of the effect on people other than her dorm-mates. "What, does it look bad?"  
"N...no," answered Harry quickly. "It looks, um, great. What did you do to her?" he asked Ginny, eyebrows raised.  
"She doesn't know, so I won't spoil it for her," whispered Ginny. She knew Hermione wouldn't like to know that Ginny had highlighted and straightened, then curled her hair into loose waves.  
Hermione pulled a book out of the messenger purse that Lavender had given her to carry instead of the heavy backpack she usually lugged around. Opening it, she gave Ron a glimpse of the title (Ancient Struggles, vol. 891: The Faun versus Centaur Conflict, circa 1280).  
Ron laughed and nudged Harry. "Still the same Hermione, though."  
  
Hermione looked out her window to watch the students walking to their coaches. There were Lavender and Parvati and her sister Padma, walking with Seamus, Dean, and PadmaÕs boyfriend Terry to their coach. And there was Neville- Hermione waved, but he didn't see her- with Hannah and Justin from Hufflepuff. A younger trio of Gryffindors walked by, including Colin Creevey, who was waving goodbye to his younger brother Dennis. Everyone was laughing and chatting amongst themselves.  
Hermione suddenly remembered that she had lent Mariah from Ravenclaw borrow her copy of Wizards and Witches of the 4th Century. Spotting the 5th-year girl boarding her coach, she yanked down her sunglasses, opened the door of hers and dashed out.  
"Mariah?" she panted, her hand on the girl's elbow. "Er, can I have my book back?" Mariah looked at her with a puzzled expression and handed the thick leather volume back to Hermione, who thanked her and began to walk back to her coach.  
Suddenly, she heard a stop in the laughter and talking, and turned around. Apparently, the main people who had been chatting were a particularly nasty group of Slytherins, including Draco Malfoy and his cronies.  
Malfoy stepped to the front of the crowd. Although it was a cold, breezy February day, his white-blond hair was slicked back and not moving at all. "Who the hell are you?" he sneered at her. "This trip is only for fifth and fourth-years. Sixth-years have regular classes."  
Hermione was about to snap back that he knew perfectly well she was in his year, but then looked down at herself and realized she looked almost unrecognizable. Then it hit her:  
Malfoy didnÕt know who she was.  
And he thought she was a sixth year!  
Hermione just smiled mysteriously, turned, and sauntered into her coach, leaving the group of Slytherins staring at her, amazed.  
  
(Malfoy's POV)  
Who was that girl?   
Malfoy thought anxiously as he stood at the front of the group. She had to be a fifth or fourth year; why hadn't he noticed her before? She had been wearing something tight and red and black, and she was unmistakably model-thin.   
Maybe it had had something to do with the fact that she had obviously not cared about him, but he suddenly felt challenged. Turning back to Crabbe and Goyle, he muttered to them, "By the end of this trip, she'll be mine."  
  
(Hermione's again)   
Just as the coaches had rolled off across the front lawn, and Hermione had finished telling Harry, Ron, and Ginny about her encounter with Malfoy, Dumbledore's voice boomed into their coach. "What the..." exclaimed Harry, his hands over his ears, as Dumbledore adjusted the voice-transfer spell to a reasonable volume.   
"Attention, students," he said good-naturedly. "Now, I assume you all know a little of Shaelune's history. It is an ancient household that was once a routine stop for wealthy wizards and witches, and many of them have put their mark on the place in the form of enchantments. You're going there to study those enchantments and do projects on them."  
Hermione grinned, excited about the assignment. "I hope I get something interesting!" she whispered to Ginny, who rolled her eyes.  
"The gracious owner of the household, Lady Roestallion, has offered to hold an opening-night dance for us in the mansion's famed ballroom." The students heard McGonagall wresting the magnification device from Dumbledore. "This is what you will need your formal clothing for, so please try to look presentable." She paused, then added menacingly, "This means tucked in shirts and combed hair, please."  
Dumbledore chuckled. "All right. However, at the dance you will be partnered with a person who we don't believe you would normally choose to work with. And," he said, becoming more serious, "You will dance at least once with this person. Lady Roestallion is a known romantic."  
Hermione humphed and sat back against the wall of the coach. "Oh, cheer up, Hermione," whispered Ginny. "You might get someone cute!" At this, Hermione scowled deeper. She didn't want a "cute" partner. She wanted one who would help her get things done.  
"Well, then," continued DumbledoreÕs voice. "In the remaining four days you will be assigned a specific enchantment and notified of the area of the house it usually occurs in. For example, the extremely strong Confundus Charm is located in the north balcony, and quite a few befuddled guests have tried to jump from the railing into the pond below. Fortunately, Lady Roestallion spotted this problem and has put up a magical barrier."  
"You and your partner will be expected to have this project complete by the end of the week. See Professor McGonagall after the introduction meeting tomorrow morning if you have any questions." Hermione could almost hear Dumbledore smiling. "That is all- and, if I calculate correctly, we should be arriving any moment now."  
After the spell cut off, a storm of chatter broke out. "A project while we're on vacation?" moaned Harry.  
"With a girl! With my luck, I'll probably get Pansy Parkinson or some other prat." Ron cried.  
"OohÉ" Ginny said dreamily. "I hope I get a really romantic enchantment andÉ likeÉ I donÕt know, Draco Malfoy for my partner."   
Hermione narrowed her eyes and swatted Ginny. "You can't possibly think he's not cute, though," Ginny protested, sounding serious.   
Hermione thought about it and ended up having to admit that he was handsome, with his shining, unnatural white-blond hair and chiseled, almost pretty-boy features. But his personality was what interested her. He wasn't totally cruel, or so she thought; more influenced by his father. Abusive, probably, she thought, trying to imagine being his girlfriend.  
"...bet he's a great kisser," continued Ginny. Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust and turned back to her book, just as the coach came to a jolting halt and the doors were thrown open. 


	2. Silver Pools and Reflections

Chapter II~   
Silver Pools and Reflections  
  
A/N: Everyone, I'm really sorry about the weird punctuation marks in the first two chapters, but I went through and checked for them this time. If you see them, just tell me and I'll try to fix it. Keep reviewing, please, if you want to, and if you like my writing check out my other story, A Struggle Between Souls (it's about Malfoy and Hermione meeting in ancient Rome). And I'll say it again: I really do love suggestions! ^_^   
  
The blinding emerald green of the hills caused Hermione to put her sunglasses back on as she stepped out of the coach. When Ginny started to follow her, Hermione turned and held out a hand. "No, stop," she whispered. "We don't want to Malfoy to know who I am, do we? And he'll definitely guess if he sees me with you three." Ginny nodded and pulled herself back inside the coach.  
Hermione slung the purse back over her shoulder and was again amazed by the beauty of the landscape. The house, which was also beautiful, was constructed of something dark red and woven into a four-floor mansion, with various balconies jutting out of the sides and foreign greenery surrounding it. Hermione could hear the bubbling of a fountain from somewhere.  
Walking up the driveway, she joined the group surrounding Dumbledore and McGonagall, taking care to hide herself from Malfoy and his crowd of Slytherins, who had just disembarked from three different coaches.  
"Students!" cried Dumbledore. "Welcome to Shaelune!"   
A roar of applause went up, and Dumbledore bowed jokingly. McGonagall stepped to the front. "You will all be roomed with your partners-" she stopped abruptly at the eruption of groans and gasps from the students. "No, no," she amended. "The two rooms of each suite are separated by a bathroom- it will be locked until after the ball, so you won't find out who your partner is," she added. "If you so choose, you will not have to see anything of your partner apart from studying and investigating your enchantment." Relieved sighs could be heard, and Dumbledore began to speak again.  
"The ball will begin at exactly seven-fifteen tonight, in the main ballroom. An extra five minutes will be allowed for latecomers wishing to make a dramatic entrance, but after that, the doors will be locked." He paused.  
A fourth-year Hufflepuff's hand went up. "Professor Dumbledore?" she asked, her voice squeaking. "Why are you locking the doors? What if we are late?"  
Dumbledore's smile faded. "There are other guests at Shaelune than we," he said finally. "There are some who would not take into account the nature of our excursion, or the protective spells we have put over each of you." ("What?" whispered a Ravenclaw behind Hermione. "Oh, didn't you know?" said her friend. "The coaches were enchanted too!") He was looking straight at Harry when he said this, and others glanced in his direction as well.  
McGonagall spoke. "But be that as it may," she said, "we hope the ball will still be enjoyable. Messengers will visit each room of each suite in turn to give you the only clue you have for finding your partner." She gave a rare smile. "Good luck!"  
The students shouted happily and ran towards the inn.  
  
Later, in her room, which was furnished in a mysterious dark turquoise, Hermione sat in front of the vanity. Ginny was behind her, doing something to her hair; Hermione didn't ask, her friend didn't tell. As she finished and closed The Faun vs. Centaur Conflict, Hermione looked at her reflection in the mirror. Ginny had applied her makeup already, but it was subtle enough (excepting the eyes, which were dramatically enhanced with shimmering black kohl) that you couldn't really tell she was wearing any.   
Her eyes had always been her favorite feature; she'd never seen anyone else with a pair like them. They were a light, but still deep gold-brown, tinted (strangely) with red, just enough to make them seem the color of cinnamon, contrasting with her nicely (she thought so, at least) shaped lips. And her hair, which Ginny was currently brushing the underside of, had graduated (even without her friend's help ) from a headful of frizzy curls whose color had been a boring mix of blond, red and brown to a more defined, auburn hue. She had even had the audacity to wonder why it seemed as though none of the Hogwarts boys had noticed her yet.  
Yes, Ginny had said there were some who liked her. Probably Neville, thought Hermione dryly. She couldn't imagine anyone like Harry (brave and adventurous) or even Malfoy (cold and unattainable) liking her. It was almost amusing: mousy, bookish little Hermione Granger, going out with one of the most popular, handsome boys in school.   
She was jolted out of her thoughts by Ginny's satisfied voice. "There! All done," she exclaimed happily, holding up a hand mirror so Hermione could see what she had done.  
Ginny had left her hair loose; it had been curled into shinier, smoother, more perfect-looking waves than earlier. A barely visible pin had been tucked behind her ear, keeping the her hair behind her shoulders. "Why does it have to be behind my shoulders?" she asked Ginny, who held up her index finger and rushed to Hermione's wardrobe. She pulled out a long, red dress, with a sparkling diamond chain in place of a halter tie.  
Ginny glanced at her watch. "Oh god, it's already six-thirty. Your messenger'll be here at seven, so go ahead and put on your dress and shoes." As she closed the door, she warned, "Don't mess up your hair and makeup!"  
Hermione laughed and gazed at the dress. She had just finished clasping the chain, whose leftover diamonds hung seductively down her otherwise bare back, when a loud rapping came at the door. She hurriedly put on the shoes, which were silvery satin platforms, and rushed to open it. A man whose face was hidden by shadows stood at the door, holding out a scroll of parchment. "Miss... Hermione Granger?" he asked with an accent that Hermione couldn't place. "Yes, thanks," she said, taking the scroll from him and shutting the door.  
As Hermione sat down on the couch, which was in front of the longer mirror, she couldn't help noticing that she did look quite different from her old self. "Change is good, I guess," she thought as she unrolled the paper.  
A verse written in a very ancient-looking calligraphy was centered in the middle of the page. Before Hermione could get a chance to read it, though, a wisp of silver emerged from the scroll.  
When the mist had settled, a girl who looked to be about her age, with tearstains down her cheeks and wearing an intricately embroidered Medeival-style dress, was floating in the air in front of Hermione. She didn't speak or introduce herself, just launched into a haunting, cold song that made Hermione wish she were wearing a heavy coat.  
The ghost sang:  
By the Matrix waits a stranger  
Shrouded in the darkness there  
Go and meet him, mortal Granger  
For his destiny you share.  
By the moonlight young turn olden  
And the day turns into night;  
So, beloved of the golden  
Go, and seek the truest right.  
The ghost smiled, but before Hermione could speak she had vanished.  
Hermione looked down. The scroll bore the same verse.  
"By the Matrix..." she repeated. "The matrix... the matrix..." she tried to remember her studies of the mansion.   
"The Matrix is that pool under the north balcony!" she remembered, her eyes lighting up. She would go, then, and wait until the last possible moment. She didn't want to begin this project with a 'stranger' any sooner than she had to. 


	3. Mystery and Moonlight Encounters

Chapter III~  
Mystery and Moonlight Encounters   
  
A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! I love suggestions...   
The reason for Malfoy's really mean behavior in this story is that I hate all those D/Hr stories where he turns all gooey and nice (hello, not the point of this relationship!). Anyways, I was sort of inspired by all the psychological stuff we've been learning about in science class where guys who like girls are sometimes cruel to them because they don't know how to express love. Review, but only if you like it!  
  
  
  
Hermione walked down the stairs. She had been afraid she would be late, and she was; according to the clock situated upon the wall, she had less than a minute to enter. "Well, at least it'll be dramatic," she said to herself, remembering McGonagall's earlier words.  
As she approached the ornately carved doorway, the mansion's clocks struck seven-twenty (she expected Dumbledore had had them set), and the doors swung inward.  
Hermione tried not to concentrate on the boys' interested stares and the girls' quizzical looks. She lost herself in the crowd, and pretty soon everyone's attention was on Professor Dumbledore. "Welcome, students," he said with a smile. "I trust you all are properly confused at your clues?" He surveyed the crowd of students. "Good, good... well, I must inform you, however, that if you do not find your partner by tonight, you may have an unpleasant surprise when you encounter him or her in your suite. So I suggest that you concentrate more on discovering your partner's identity than on anything else." He smiled again. "Let the ball commence!"  
Several students groaned at his previous announcement, then dispersed into groups; a fast-beating song began to play. Hermione, however, slipped away into the corner, where she could see Ginny.   
"Hello," said Ginny sulkily. "Guess who my partner is?"  
"I can't," said Hermione. "Who is it?"  
"Colin Creevey," Ginny said as though it were a disgusting vegetable. "How could they put me with him?"  
"Well, you wouldn't normally work with him, would you?" asked Hermione, trying not to laugh.  
"No, I suppose not," agreed Ginny. She sighed and examined Hermione. "Perfect! You really do look better than you did at the Yule Ball. I'm so glad we didn't have to wear robes."  
"Me too," said Hermione. "Look, there's Harry. I'll go talk to him, see who his partner is."  
Ginny grabbed her arm as she started off. "No, you can't!"  
"Why?" asked Hermione, then realized that Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson were dancing right behind where Harry and Ron were standing. If she could read their expressions well, Pansy looked blissfully happy, but Malfoy looked bored and disgusted. Then, two girls walked up to Ron and Harry and showed them their letters. They appeared to be discussing the letters very deeply, but suddenly seemed to realize that they were partners. They paired off and moved on to the dance floor.  
Hermione looked back dejectedly. Ginny sighed. "Look, Hermione," she said. "You have absolutely nothing to be sad about. You are the prettiest girl at this ball- even prettier than me, I have to admit, and your partner, whoever he is, is one lucky guy." She looked again at her watch. "And if I were you, I would hurry- a bunch of Gryffindors are going to have a party in the outdoor bar and pool. It's stocked," she added, winking. "And we're going in about forty-five minutes, so I would go ahead and find out who he is."  
Hermione took a shaky breath. "Oh... okay," she said, squaring her shoulders. "I'm leaving."  
Ginny noticed that Pansy Parkinson was dancing with Crabbe now. Where had Malfoy slipped off to?  
  
(Malfoy's POV)  
At least, whoever she is, she's not Potter or Weasley's partner, Draco thought derisively. They had both just walked off happily with two ditzes from Hufflepuff.  
Looking at his watch, he noticed that it was time for him to get going out to that pool under the balcony. He had asked that dork Zambini for her map and found it there, with "The Matrix" conveniently written below it. And if it took too long to get this partner-meeting thing over with, he would be late for the Slytherins' "flashlight tour" later- in his second year, he had learned that this meant they explored the corridors until they found the first opportunity for trouble, then dove right in.  
It was a tradition he liked.  
Malfoy dashed out of the ballroom, leaving Pansy standing there, shocked. If he could remember the spell, he could easily slice through some of these hedges that blocked his way.  
When he arrived at the pool, someone was already sitting against the stone wall that surrounded it... her face was hidden by shadows, but he could see the color of her dress: red. Blood red.  
"Well, let's get on with it, then," he drawled, walking over to lean against the wall she was sitting against.   
She didn't move, but her breathing stopped; she froze. "No, no, no," he thought he heard her whispering.  
Feeling impatient, Malfoy reached down and gripped her upper arm tightly. Her skin, though soft and smooth, was cold. He pulled her up so she was standing; he still towered over her.  
The girl tilted her head of dark curls upward and the moonlight struck her face, bringing into clarity what Malfoy had most, and least, wanted to see.  
Yes, it was the incredibly beautiful, mysterious girl he had spoken to on the driveway. But... he looked closer, to make sure. Yes...  
It was also Hermione Granger, that stinking little piece of Mudblood trash who had hated him since the first day of school at Hogwarts.  
He let go of her arm, flinging it back against the stone. He saw her wince in pain.  
Malfoy put both his hands on either side of her face, tilting her neck backwards so that her eyes were parallel to his. "So," he said very, very quietly. "We're partners for this damned project."  
The Mudblood spoke, but it wasn't a scared whimper, as he had thought. Her voice was deadly calm, and as cold as his could be. "Right for once, Death Eater," she said, throwing what he guessed was the most malicious insult she could think of.  
She was right. Those two words- Death Eater- made his blood turn to ice. But he kept a firm grip on her cheekbones. "Here's how it's going to work," he said, keeping his voice low. "We'll do the goddamned project. I'll meet you here- after dark, so no one will see us- and research the enchantment. That's all this is," he added, then bent his mouth closer to her ear. "An assignment. Your specialty, Mudblood."  
  
(Hermione's POV)  
His hands let go of her face, and she felt cold, burning patches of hatred where they had gripped her. Malfoy stopped to look at her, his eyes laughing, and then turned and swept out of the garden.  
Hermione slid back to the ground, tears beginning to leak out of her eyes. How had this happened? Her new, mysterious attitude was supposed to make Malfoy like her, not make him hate her more.   
She heard footsteps on the ground outside of the garden, and Harry, Ron, and Ginny burst in, all three of them rushing over to her. "Hermione, what happened?" asked Harry, as Ginny gasped at the red marks Malfoy's hands had left at the side of her face. "We saw Malfoy on the way here- Ginny told us she thought he might be your partner," continued Ron. "What did he do to you?"  
Hermione looked down, then spoke. "Nothing," she said. "We just talked about the project."  
Harry's eyes lingered on her red-lined ones, then on the marks on either side of her cheeks. Then, getting that she didnÕt want to talk right now, he patted her on the shoulder, turned and left, Ron walking with him.  
Ginny sat down beside her. "What really happened?" she asked, not buying Hermione's excuse.  
Hermione choked on a sob when she tried to sigh. "He... he was my partner," she said. "I was here waiting, and then he came and saw who I was..." she looked at Ginny, trying to smile, then ran two fingers through her hair and gestured at herself. "He saw through all ofthis, this joke. This isn't who I am; I'm Hermione, a boring, ugly mouse."  
Ginny's mouth formed a line. "Maybe that's not the real Hermione. Maybe this-" she waved at the other girl's dress and hair. "-maybe this is who you really, truly are."  
"Maybe," said Hermione, clearly doubtful. "Then... he did this..." she touched the sides of her face, wincing at the pain. "He told me we'd meet here every night to talk about the project, but that was it. Then... then he called me Mudblood. Again."   
Ginny was about to speak, but the clocks chimed eleven. "The ball's over," she said, helping Hermione stand up. "I'll take you up to your room, and we're going to make this work. Okay?" She didn't wait for an answer.  
Hermione froze. "My...my room," she said, trembling. "I have to share a suite with... with Malfoy!"  
Ginny rolled her eyes at Hermione. "You heard McGonagall, you can lock the door," she said sensibly. "Now, come on. We have a lot to cover." 


	4. Lessons and Haunted Dreams

Chapter IV~ Lessons and Haunted Dreams  
  
A/N: So, everyone, I'm not sure if it's OK or not to plug for other people's stories in your author's notes, but if you like Draco and Hermione- AT ALL- go read Thea's story, 'Perished Dreams.' (BTW, it's rated PG-13 and R). But whatever, it's the best story I've ever read, and it blows away all the competition.   
I want to actually start the plot now, so I have some idea of what's going to happen, but suggestions would still be wildly appreciated. I'm going to put out an uber-short story soon about a comparison between the last generation (Lily, James, Sirius, *ugh* Snape) and this one (Hermione, Harry, Ron, *sigh* Malfoy) from Dumbledore's point of view. Plus, I'm thinking of doing something about Lily and James... with Lily being anorexic... or something like that. Anyways, my point is that I may not be writing for a while after the next couple of chapters.  
On with the story!  
  
  
Ginny strutted down the length of Hermione's room, each of her legs slightly crossing over the other as she stepped forward. "That's the basic walk," she said knowledgeably to Hermione. "Remember to sway your hips just a bit-" Ginny added her hips into the motion- "-and whatever you do, vary your attention between the object of your attention and the ground, especially if you're on a steep stairway."  
Hermione laughed and got up from the sofa, attempting Ginny's exaggerated walk in what she thought was an exaggerated manner. "Close," her friend appraised, nodding. "But you should always smile sort of inwardly, like you know a secret about him, not all openly and ditz-like. You know?"  
Hermione didn't, but she tried it anyway, not feeling confident at all. "I feel like a ditz anyway," she admitted to Ginny. "I mean, what is the point of learning all this crap? I don't even WANT him to like me." She sighed.  
If Ginny heard, she ignored Hermione's previous comment. "All right, now try the walk with heels," she said, handing her friend a pair of stilettos.   
Hermione scowled as she put them on. "There is no point," she reiterated. "He's about ten yards away, and he's probably either thinking what bad luck it is for him to have me as his partner, or he's asleep and dreaming about some prat- Pansy Parkinson, probably." She felt her throat tense up, but swallowed the wave of anger and self-pity that came rising up. It was silly to cry over something like this anyway.   
"The point is, he's thinking about you," Ginny argued optimistically. "Get up, and practice the walk." She stuck out her lower lip childishly.  
"But I don't want him to be thinking about me," Hermione protested as she stood reluctantly.  
  
  
In the next room, though, Malfoy was thinking about her. Why did the little, bookish Mudblood have to get so- he forced himself not to say the word- *different* right before they got partnered for the projects?  
True, the outcome might have been the same anyway. He had to admit that he'd been attracted to the forbidden-fruit aspect of her perfect self, so chaste, so self-assured, even before she'd become pretty as well. Now, every time he saw her, it was as though he was hit with the full force of this... pressure, all these conflicted emotions together as one. Most of them were negative- wasn't she one of Potter's best friends? The most perfect student in the school? A self-proclaimed Slytherin-hater?  
And then there was this... other thing, something foreign to Draco, something strange that chilled him to the marrow. Was it, perhaps, jealousy? Of Granger, for all her straight 100s and her *real* friends(unlike he, who only had cronies and simpering idiots)? Or maybe of... no. Not a possibility.   
He had a strange, sinking feeling that he knew what it was- and it was just out of reach...  
  
  
Hermione, after an hour of lying wide awake, had at last fallen into a restless, troubled sleep. More than anything she wanted to be left with normal, dark, quiet sleep, but her wish was not to be granted; the black began to be invaded with the silver-cast garden and pool she had visited earlier.  
As Hermione dreamt of it, the garden lay uninhabited, until footsteps were heard around the corner of the tall hedge that walled it. A girl, gowned in dark blue embellished with gold and green thread at the bodice, moved fearfully to the side of the pool, where she hesitated before sittting.  
Somehow, the girl seemed familiar to Hermione. But the gown seemed so very old-fashioned... maybe this dream was set in the past.   
As the girl sat there, she seemed anxious, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her. She stopped rocking, though, when footsteps came a second time from the garden.  
A taller boy, who looked slightly older than she, swept into the garden, a wide black cape flying behind him and strangely dark grey-blue eyes glittering in the moonlight. Hermione saw him say something to her, and although she could not hear it, she could imagine what he was saying. Something incredibly cruel, most likely, she realized as she watched him draw a silver dagger from the depths of his cloak, and raise it towards the frightened girl...  
"NO!" she cried out, sitting upright in her bed, sweat trickling down the side of her forehead.  
Hermione heard movement in the other room, and she calmed slightly. It was just a dream, probably not real. But what was quite real, she thought, her thoughts focusing on the rustling of bedcovers and slight cursing, was that Malfoy had apparently heard her. She straightened her pyjamas and prepared to lie.  
  
  
Malfoy had been awoken at a dead hour of the morning by a petrified shriek from the room across the way. "What the..." he muttered, climbing out of bed and wrapping the first thing he could find- a smoking jacket- around his bare chest. "Stupid Mudblood, waking everyone up at all hours of the night," he said angrily. Well, something might be wrong, so he should probably go find out what it was.  
Upon entering her room, he saw her sitting on the bed, looking perfectly healthy if a bit shaken. "Why the hell do you have to go waking me up now?" he asked her. "Why'd you scream?"  
The mudblood looked at him, seeming surprised. "It was just a dream," she said innocently.  
Malfoy found himself once again looking back at her appraisingly, trying to think of something cold and rude to say. "Keep your dreams to yourself, Granger- I don't want to hear them."  
  
  
A/N: OK... just in case you can't figure it out and are still hoping for lovey-dovey making out Hr/D-wise this early in the story, be patient. He still doesn't like her yet, and I'm not planning on making him look like an easily influenced coward. But don't worry, there will be kissing yet- around Chapter 7 or so, I'd say- and plenty of mystery and angst, too. Anyways, stay tuned!  
Thanks to Lazuli, Chrissy, Amanda, and Dragon2088 for reviewing so far... maybe I should change my summary? 


	5. Dust and an Ancient Enchantment

A/N: I'm sorry I haven't updated in like a week... I've been really busy with school, and then I was working on my other story (the one with them in Ancient Rome), and then I sort of got Internet-grounded. So here is Chapter 5! I'll try to make it long ^_^  
Ahn~ Thanks! I will!  
Milificent Snape~ Thank you! I came up with it myself *blushes*  
Resh~ Oh, that's so sweet! I think it's rather good myself ;D  
Jamie~ Yeah, I think that's so fake. I mean, they're a great couple, but it seems sort of out of character when they're all of a sudden mushy.  
Chrissy~ Hmm! Great idea! And yes, the thing has something to do with the enchantment around the Matrix.  
Milady~ Don't we all? Well, thank you, and I hope I do too...  
Jedah~ *tear* Oh my gosh, really??! You're so sweet!  
Pluto_lass~ Urrgh... I wish I could just write all the time so that no one is unhappy!  
Rachel Hunt~ Ah... perhaps because you were too busy being so wonderfully nice when you reviewed my other one? *blushes*   
Allee Kat~ Ooh... suspense... it kills...  
Rachel Hunt~ Well, I did write it... of course, everyone loves it... *haughty grin* And, here's the rest, although it did take a while to get here.  
VenusSaturnalia~ I didn't quite mean it like that... I guess maybe he does sound a little tour-guide-y.... And yes! A woman (or man) after my own heart! *gets all dreamy-eyed at mention of Draco in leather pants*  
Crystal~ That's so sweet! I'm touched ^_^  
AmiAmiNSusu~ Well, arigato ;D gomen ne... I was really busy and grounded...  
Squin~ you're so nice! And I totally agree about the tough-guy thing... it's very sexy.  
Sanna~ Hmmm... I don't think it's out-of-character at all... in fact, that's what I think is the best part of the story... that Draco doesn't go all wishy-washy on us.  
Hemlock~ *^* I don't know! I'm glad you did, though!  
Nuada~ Well, that's high praise, coming from such a great writer. I read some of your fics, and you're very talented (continue the one about Morgan, please!).  
Dracoisshot1326~ er.... okay...  
Delphi~ I'm trying! I'm trying!  
  
  
Okay, I think that's everyone... Remember, if you review and leave a name, then I will a) go check out your stories and possibly review them and b) mention you in my next author's note! Plus, you can just feel happy about making an otherwise very tired and grumpy author smile!  
  
  
Chapter 5  
  
From the secluded, high point of the tower that Hermione's room was in, sunlight flooded through the wide bay windows, blanketing the sleeping figure with dappled gold. As she stirred, rustling the covers, someone knocked on the door.  
"Who is it?" moaned Hermione, rolling over to look at the time. It was half-past one.   
Ginny strode into the room, her arms laden with clothes. "Wake up, you have an enchantment to study!" she informed her friend (all too cheerfully, in Hermione's opinion).   
"I do?"   
Ginny stared. "You mean you haven't figured yours out yet?"  
"Well, not-"  
Her friend laughed. "Little Miss Always-on-top-of-things Granger is-" she checked her watch- "-eighteen hours behind on an assignment? The horror!"  
Hermione scowled at her and dragged herself out of bed, eyeing the pile of clothes Ginny was carrying as the red-haired girl began to lay them out on the various pieces of furniture.  
Ginny finished and quickly began to pick a few pieces up again. Holding a plaid skirt and white oxford in front of her, she pursed her lips. "This is the Preppy but Sexy-Catholic-Schoolgirl look."  
Hermione raised a disbelieving eyebrow and repeated what Ginny had said, a half-smile on her face. "The preppy but sexy-Catholic-schoolgirl look?"  
"Yes," her friend answered stoutly, placing the clothes back on the chaise lounge and picking up another set. Hermione stopped her, sighing and picking up the skirt and shirt. "I'll just wear this and my black robes," she said.   
Ginny hesitated, but then went over to start gathering tools from the vanity. "No, stop," Hermione protested. "I really don't need this, okay? There's no one to do it for, and it's just a waste of time for me."  
Now it was Ginny's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Wasted time? Well, it wasn't me who didn't wake up until one in the afternoon."  
"Shut UP!" Hermione grinned and threw one of the bed pillows at her. "Fine, just braid my hair or something. I don't care, as long as it takes less than ten minutes." She scooped the clothes into her arms and went into the bathroom to change.  
  
Just as Hermione finished straightening the blouse, the doorknob on the other side of the bathroom clicked, and Draco Malfoy came in, wearing a look on his face that was a deadly combination of drowsiness and frustration.   
"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked him indignantly, hands on her hips.  
He looked at her, but didn't change his expression. "Last I checked, it was my bathroom too."  
Hermione sighed through her nose and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.  
"Bitch," Draco muttered, fumbling with the faucet on the tub.  
  
  
Hermione eventually found her way down to the lobby of the inn and asked the concierge, an elegant French witch in slate-blue robes, where the library was.  
"In the southwest dungeon," the clerk answered without looking up from her thick book.   
Hermione thanked her and took a scroll map that was set out on the desk, unrolling it and pinpointing the dungeon. It was just below and a few hundred meters over from the lobby she was in now; it wouldn't be hard to get there.  
After a good quarter-hour of walking, Hermione finally reached a pair of looming, stone doors, engraved with a pattern of what she recognized as white roses- there had been a trellis of them surrounding the pool last night- inlaid with a sort of crystal, adorned with emeralds for the stems and leaves. Somehow, the sight of such an evocant reminder made her throat feel strangely choked. Just as she reached for the doors, though, they swung open, revealing the library.  
It was remarkably high-ceilinged for a dungeon, with carved patterns on the domed walls where they were not lined with shelves of books. Here and there, a painting hung, but mainly the room was filled with case upon case of millenia of books- all dusty and seemingly untouched for years.  
As Hermione began to wander among the shelves, there was a loud poofing sound behind her. She whipped around just in time to see an explosion of silver sparkles, and a tall woman appearing in their midst. The woman was clothed in a floor-length gown, simple and undecorated save for a silver circlet about her waist; she wore a matching, smaller one atop her waves of jet-black hair. A blue crescent moon, with its two points facing upwards, was painted between her eyebrows.  
"Who are you?" she asked, her voice somewhere below a whisper.  
The woman sighed exasperatedly. "The librarian, of course." She folded her pale, bare arms across her chest and waited. "Well, what are you looking for?"  
Hermione shook her head. "Do you know the pool that's under the northern balcony? The one in a walled garden?"  
She caught a flash of shock and recognition in the librarian's deep violet eyes, but it was gone as the woman answered curtly. "Yes."  
Hermione tried to keep the conversation normal. "Do you have any idea what the enchantment is around it?"  
There was the surprise in her eyes again- but it soon softened into sly suspicion. "Ah, you're one of those witches from that school in Britain. Well, then, I can't tell you what the enchantment is, but I assure you there is one- and I can point you to books that might help you find out what it is."  
  
An hour later, Hermione was sitting on the floor in a forsaken corner of the library, surrounded by stacks of books. She was currently leafing through a particularly dusty tome titled The Lost Enchantments of Water. "Why don't any of these have anything about this stupid pool?" she cried in frustration, throwing the book aside and eliciting a cloud of dust from the ancient carpet.  
The next book on the stack, she realized in confusion, was called Star-Crossed Lovers: Magic at Midnight. Hermione lifted it, wondering at its gilt gold cover and shimmering inscription. As she opened the book, a light blinded her and she dropped it; it felt like fire in her hands.  
  
Hermione regained her eyesight in a forest, illuminated by sunlight filtered through the trees. She was sitting beside a powerful, wide stream, that rushed off close by into a hundred-foot waterfall, dashing over slick rocks and scattered pebbles. And there was the librarian, looking disgruntled. "You managed to unlock the live-experience function of this book," she said, plastering a false smile on her face. Hermione noticed she was now carrying a scroll and wearing gold to match the book's cover; before she knew it, the scroll was floating in the air in front of her. "That pool enchantment is number four hundred and twenty six," the librarian informed her, waving a hand and highlighting a small row of inked words far down the page. Then the light was there again, and the forest-world was lost to her.  
  
  
This time, she awoke in the garden, sitting atop the rock that she had dreamed of the previous night. The librarian was there, and she was beckoning to Hermione to get up. "You might recognize this scene," she cautioned, "but they won't be able to hear or see you."  
Hermione was about to ask who they were, but before she could the boy from her dream entered the garden, followed shortly by the girl. They were in different clothes; it was another night. For a moment, they simply stared at one another; suddenly, a silver sheen came over their eyes, and each wavered for a moment before she fell into his arms. This time, though, the same sense of anxious, cruel urgency hung in the air, but their actions were not so indifferent; they were passionate, but there was a loveless air to the way they gripped each other's bodies as they kissed. Slowly, their bodies vanished as the forest reappeared around the woman and Hermione, then faded back into the now-familiar scenery of the library.  
  
  
Hermione lay on the floor, staring up at the stone ceiling in a dazed manner. The book was open, its pages ruffled, atop her chest, and her long, russet-colored hair was strewn about her shoulders and face. There were so many clues to the puzzle now, but somehow the answers were always just out of reach. I have to figure it out, Hermione thought, her heart sinking. I wonder what Malfoy's found so far? 


	6. Experiments and Strange Familiarities

**Chapter 6 ~:~ Experiments and Strange Familiarities**  
  
A~N: I think this time I will leave the long thank-you-for-reviewing list for the end-note. I have a really good idea for this chapter and want to get it down before my brain goes dead on me, so hear it out, okay?  
Oh, by the way, the song lyrics from this chapter are from _I'd Rather Be In Love With You_ by Michelle Branch. I think they fit really well with the plot. So, um, er... everything here, except, in some aspects, the storyline, and the setting, belongs to J.K. Rowling, that all-revered goddess. *bows very low* And also, about the way this chapter is set up- alternating between the big paragraph breaks means that you're basically alternating between points of view. Like, if Hermione is called Granger and Draco is called Draco, then that's Malfoy's point of view, which will tend to be less flowery (like, instead of pale, burnished brown, he calls her eyes gold-ish.). But if Hermione is called Hermione and Draco is called Malfoy, then that's Hermione's POV. Got it? Okay, let's go on!  
  
  
  
The last, golden-red rays of sunset were reflected in the otherwise dark surface of the pool. Hermione remembered an old word for water - _mere_ - and was reminded of mirrors and their water-like tendencies. Her own reflection gazed balefully up at her from the darkness, the pale, burnished brown of the eyes boring into her; the girl on the other side half-smiled, wryly, and then in a final shiver of the soft waves was gone, swallowed into the inky blackness.  
Hermione turned away and stood, wrapping her thin robes about her as if to ward against the oncoming night. The garden seemed to have fallen into shadow, the foreign flowers and ivies adorning the trellis blackened; its stone walls guarded her against sound from elsewhere in the labyrinth of hedges and barriers that sprawled over the grounds beyond the mansion. She felt unusually alone. _He'll be here soon, and then you can get this over with,_ she assured herself, considering casting a warmth charm. Hermione remembered, though, Professor McGonagall's warning:   
_"I would be cautious as to the spells you cast while in the vicinity of your area. Take into consideration the enchantment about the location; would it be wise to, say, use a water charm while poking about old, fragile ashes?"_  
Hermione felt some of the warmth return to her bones, anyway, at the thought of the Professor and Hogwarts. It made this all seem surreal, almost false.  
  
Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was sitting in his room with both legs draped over the arm of a chair, laughing and enjoying the company of his fellow Slytherin fifth-years. Almost all of them(_including Pansy, damn it,_ he thought as he cringed at the sound of her horsey laugh) had congregated there, bringing several bottles of Ogden's and even some butterbeer he suspected had been stolen from the Three Broomsticks when Madame Rosmerta's back was turned.  
As he sat there and Pansy goggled at him in what she must have thought was a coquettish manner, Draco's thoughts turned to his agenda for the next couple of days. He knew many of his friends were planning on not doing the project, as most of them had been paired with people from other houses. However, his good grades were the only thing keeping him at Hogwarts right now; Draco knew that, should his progress reports begin to show decline, his father would transfer him to Durmstrang without hesitation. And there were more things than torturing Gryffindors (he had to admit it was enjoyable) that he was attached to at the school.  
Through some strange twist of fate that Draco didn't want to inspect more closely, thoughts of attachment led to thoughts of Granger. Thinking of the fact that she was living only five or six meters away from him was cruelly arousing, and Draco attempted to turn his mind to another topic. But then he remembered where she was- probably in the garden, waiting anxiously for him.  
He laughed. Let her wait; it wasn't as though she had anything better to do with her time. Draco had never gotten the impression that the Mudblood was particularly popular, not even among her own housemates. Of course she had friends, but that wasn't nearly the same as being loved and liked by many people- like Cho Chang, or those Indian twins (their names were Peashoot and Padding, or something like that). Hell, she probably had worked on deciphering the enchantment all day, but Draco doubted she'd come up with as much information as he had. If you knew the right spells to use, or where to look, it was amazing the sort of results you could get...  
  
It was around ten 'o clock when Draco finally sauntered leisurely into the garden, the moon lighting up his silver-gold hair like a beacon. Hermione had finally decided to cast a warmth charm, against the Professor's advice; the chill wind was blowing strongly now, and she noted with annoyance that he was wearing an outer-cloak over his robes.   
"Late, aren't you?" she asked nonchalantly, indicating the position of the white-silver orb high in the night sky. "Busy eating Parkinson's face?"  
Draco almost shuddered; the thought of kissing Pansy was excruciatingly revulsive. But if Granger liked living in her own little fantasy world where everyone was in love with everyone else, he wouldn't stand in her way. "What do you think?" he sneered, leaning against the wall. "And you? Been feeling pathetically sorry for yourself and making Weasel and Potter listen to your whining, eh?" He snickered softly and watched as she scowled at him.  
"No. I've been working on the project like you were supposed to be doing, instead of enjoying the company of your repulsive.. ugh... friends. You think I can't hear from down here? This garden is below our rooms for a reason, ferret-face."  
Malfoy snorted. "It's not as if I haven't done research, too, Mudblood. Just because I know when to quit studying and have fun doesn't mean I'm a stupid prat." He sat down on the rimming-wall of the pool and gazed up at her insolently. "Are you ready to start now?"  
Hermione sighed through her nose and gritted her teeth before she sat down a good half-meter away from Malfoy, dropping her bookbag on the ground and then removing a bright silver quill from it. She'd gotten it at Flourish and Blotts the summer before school started; it was a less elaborative version of Rita Skeeter's Quick-Quotes one, and it was designed to take comprehensive notes on lectures or conversations.   
  
"Apparently, someone was murdered here in the late 16th century," Malfoy began, not looking at Hermione but into the pool. "In this garden. Who it was isn't really clear, but we do know that a Hogwarts student- Alexandria de Lunariam- died here in 1599. Four hundred years ago." He cleared his throat. "I haven't talked to Dumbledore about it, but I've heard about the death-" he stiffened visibly. "-around home, and apparently this de Lunariam girl was a muggle-born. They were rich Muggles, but still Muggles all the same."  
Hermione inhaled shakily, her voice quiet when she finally spoke. "Do you know who killed her?"  
"No. She had a knife-wound, and she was found drowned in the pool." His voice was strangely cold and clipped.  
Hermione turned away from him in silent thought, then snapped back around, sounding accusatory. "You know more about this than you're telling me, Malfoy. I need to know everything- can't you see this is getting dangerous? What if the enchantment had something to do with Alexandria's death? We could get hurt-"  
Malfoy turned around to face her, and his eyes were burning with a cold, shadowy grey fire she had never seen before. "That's the point, Granger. You could get hurt. Don't you see that it's already happening?"  
Hermione knitted her brow in confusion. "What? I-"  
Malfoy's hands found his way to her shoulders, and he shook her violently, making her head fall limpidly back and forth, the mass of chestnut hair sprawling messily across it. His eyes, formerly lit with chill intention, now took on an almost desperate glint. "It's the enchantment, all right? It's the damned enchantment. It killed that girl, and it'll kill you too."  
"What are you _talking_ about?" Hermione's own brown eyes were wide with a mixture of fright and disbelief. "You know what the enchantment is?"  
Malfoy suddenly looked as though he'd said too much and was wary of the consequences. "No," he answered more quietly, standing and going over to one of the trees, from which hung several garlands of a fragrant, soft-petaled white flower. "I don't. I don't think anyone does, actually, not even the inn-mistress here; whatever it is, it's powerful. Proabably dark magic, too- nothing else could play havoc with people's lives this way-" He seemed to be talking to himself now, running over facts in his mind. Then he turned back to her. "You have to understand, Granger- it's not just about that girl. I think the enchantment is some sort of revenge mark- you're smart, you know about repeat-scenario spells. Time loops, that sort of thing, where history gets repeated."  
  
Granger's face had gone pale, and Draco could see its rather ethereal whiteness even in the darkness. "You mean- you mean this girl's death is going to happen again? To... to me?" The Mudblood looked as though she was going to be sick. "Not neccessarily," Draco answered vaguely. "That's true only if Alexandria de Lunariam's is the death that the enchantment refers to, and only if it is dark magic- nothing else can kill- and only if it is a repeat-scenario spell. Very shaky evidence is all we've got... but that's still the most likely hypothesis."  
Granger stood up and walked toward him, her palms against her back. "How do you know all this? There wasn't anything except-" She seemed to think better of sharing this, and went on. "-well, there wasn't anything in the library. Where could you possibly get all this information?"  
"I have my ways," he answered back in the same vague voice. "Plus, all I had to do was go through the _Prophet_ archives in the catalog room- didn't look there, did you? - back to 1599. It was huge: a fifteen-year-old Hogwarts student, for Merlin's sake, a _Gryffindor_, murdered in cold blood in an isolated hotel in Ireland!" He repeated the last synopsis in a disgusted tone. "Really, there wasn't much they could tell. Of course, no one thought it was one of her fellow students who had accompanied her on the trip, but the Ministry interviewed them as a precaution; the only other people there were the current Headmistress, Professor Featherstone, and her trusted Deputy Headmaster, Professor Clearian- both worthy teachers and close friends of the Minister, since the inn-mistress, Lady Roestallion, was at her dead cousin's funeral in Wales." By this time he had resumed looking at the stars instead of at Granger, who was rubbing her forehead as though she were scolding herself for not ravaging the library, looking for archaic _Prophet_ issues. Meanwhile, the Quick-Notes-Quill was filling scroll after scroll of bulleted paper, remarking on the entire conversation.  
  
"Were there any pictures of Alexandria in the paper?" Hermione asked after awhile.   
Malfoy reached inside the front of his robes and withdrew a large clipping from the _Prophet_. "It's a reprint of a portrait," he explained when Hermione realized it wasn't a photo. "I know that," she answered, snatching it away from him.  
Alexandria was petite, with raven-colored curls that spilled down her back haphazardly, held only by a crooked gold circlet that looked to have been placed about her temples at the last minute. Her eyes were, strangely, a sort of brown-gold color that contrasted with her dark hair, shining brightly against the pale, sallow color of her face. She was wearing a deep, wine-colored gown, laced with gold at the waist and flowing in a smooth line past the bottom of the picture. It wasn't moving; Hermione guessed that it was a Muggle portrait from the Renaissance, which would explain why Alexandria wasn't wearing robes. "She was pretty," Hermione remarked shortly as she handed the clipping back to Malfoy, who shook his head. "I guess you don't see the resemblance, then."  
"What resemblance?" asked Hermione as she turned her back to him and began to pack her quill and notes back into her bag.  
"Between you and the girl," he replied, making Hermione stop short.  
  
Granger slowly turned around to face him, a wary look in her eyes, which she closed. "I'm sorry, I think I've just hallucinated. Did you say I looked like- like _her_?" She waved a hand at the clipping, which had floated to the ground. Alexandria's eyes stared hauntingly up at Draco, shining in a way chillingly similar to Granger's. Suddenly he was standing over her, and to look him in the eyes she had to tilt her head back. He stared at her for a long, silent moment, before brushing past her, his silk-lined cloak gracefully skimming her skin as it floated after him.  
  
"I suppose that's a yes," Hermione said to the quiet garden.  
  
  
Okay, okay, okay, so there wasn't a lot of heart-racing action in this chapter. Sorry. I had to put the actual clues to the mystery in somewhere between all the angst and romance, but I promise there's lots of passionate.. er... stuff coming up. Telling you what it is would be spoiling the whole point of a mystery, now, wouldn't it? ;D  
  
Thanks (so much!) to:  
Draco's Queen (well, thank you very much!), Lisa (oh, *tear* I've always wanted to be called an awesome writer! Thank you!), Constellation (*grin* I've always loved descriptions... they're so fun to write!), Epequa (So do I, and I'm honored!), Rachel Hunt *my favorite reviewer!* (Well, er, yeah.. because I don't wake up till, like, noon, that's usually what happens to me...the librarian is actually how I thought Morgan le Fay would look; I'm not sure why I put her in there, but I thought it would be a cool change of pace to not have the librarian be old and doddery for once...ooh, yeah, I thought so too about the book-title thing. I hate having to copy stuff out of textbooks...yes, well, erm... I'm... sorry? Well, the chapter's here now, and I guess that's what counts...), Nuada (thanks! I always read my chapters over and think, "If I were reading this story, would I want to murder the writer with something cruel and painful?" [since I am unusually self-critical, the answer is usually yes.]), Alice Incarnate (that means a lot to me!), Fire Goddess (actually, you did! Under Leiloha... the first chapter, I think I actually thanked you... yes, I love the Britney Spears thing! Actually, my aunt, who was like sixteen when this happened, had my uncle- her brother, who was like eighteen- and a bunch of his friends over and they were watching MTV. Anyways, the Britney Spears video where she has her shirt in a knot came on, and the guys started drooling all over the TV... er... anyways...), Delphi (ok!), RowenaR (you got it!), VenusSaturnalia (thanks so much! And yes, I am going to continue it, because I LOVE this story! It's really fun to write.), Chrissy (I think I mentioned that that was a different day. It'll all come out in this chapter, I promise.), Ruby Moon (Um, I think I will... here I go...), Black Mage Zelda (er... okay... *backs away slowly*), and Rosandra May (your wish is my command!). I love you ALL! Keep reviewing, please!  
  
I sort of had to type to defrost my fingers, which is why this chapter is so long... you see, it snowed _all day_ (it started at 9:30 AM, and now, at 10:00 PM, it's _still_ going strong) here in Georgia, and I sort of threw too many snowballs... ahem...  
Now I must retire into a dreams-of-Draco-filled sleep, and I wish you all the same! Happy New Year!  
~icestar~ 


	7. Discoveries and Mystical Spells

  
  
  
**Shaelune, Chapter 7 ~:~ Discoveries and Mystical Spells**   
  
**A/N**: I'm in serious need of a caffeine jolt right now, so don't blame me if this is too short or doesn't make much sense (or for the cheesy chapter name), okay? It's the water's fault for not having awakening properties.  
  
  
As much as Hermione continued to attempt staying awake, her eyelids began to weigh down more heavily, shutting themselves against her will. She didn't really fancy having any more murderous, prophetic, or otherwise abnormal dreams tonight- not after what had happened with Malfoy in the garden...  
What _had_ happened? She stared even harder into the slightly unfocused firelight, shrouded in the darkness of her bed's canopy. All the information that he'd found... he couldn't have discovered all that in one day's readings of the _Prophet!_ Hermione knew it was impossible. She'd tried many times to do speed-reading spells or relevance charms on her books, but none of them worked. She suspected they had been safeguarded by Madame Pince. Still, it seemed impossible to her: How could a chauvinist Slytherin pig like Malfoy have better research habits than she?  
And after the unexpected outpouring of historical knowledge, there came the silence, and then the painting. Suddenly, his words echoed in Hermione's mind:  
  


_"She looks like you."_  
  


The image of that girl- Alexandria, wasn't it?- floated before her eyes; the burnished ebony curls, the pale marble skin. Her cheekbones had been incredibly high, and the dark eyelashes that shaded her soulful brown eyes gave her the appearance of an exotic, sheltered aristocrat (_Which was probably what she was_, Hermione reminded herself wryly). But even with astonishing beauty and, apparently, a rich royal background in the Muggle world, Alexandria had been murdered.  
_Who would kill an innocent girl?_ Hermione wondered in disbelief. _Who would find anything to complain about in someone so good, and pretty, and well-off? Hell, she was a Gryffindor!_ Hermione tried to work through the clues in her mind: Who hated beautiful girls? Well, obviously other, security-challenged girls, and boys with either very deep-seated loathing or pretended dislike for them because they had... secrets, shall we say? Who hated rich people? Poor people;_ But no_, Hermione thought in self-contradiction. _You have to have a substantial amount of money to go to Hogwarts._ There wasn't any poverty at the school.  
Who hated Gryffindors?  
Suddenly, the answer- or at least part of it- became clear to her. Slytherins! A Slytherin would absolutely detest a gorgeous, smart, caring, rich Gryffindor girl- she would be a combination of all the things he or she hated in people who weren't themselves.   
Then, Hermione wavered. But would a Slytherin, even an incredibly cruel one, really go to the length of killing people? It didn't seem to quite fit together. She knew Slytherins had been graduating, only to become Dark wizards, for thousands of years, but such an act of violence, especially while still in school, felt out-of-place.  
_It's the only reasonable explanation,_ she assured herself, hopping quietly out of bed and going over to the wooden desk. Hermione deftly pulled open each drawer and then began to collect things: parchment, the time-spells book Professor McGonagall had given her for Christmas third year, quills, a pocketwatch, a small paperweight, a miniature knife, and a stack of letters she had recieved at school over the past five years. There weren't many: no one had written to her save her parents, since none of her former Muggle friends knew where she went during the school terms or had any clue about owl post.  
Hermione sat down on the bed and lit the candle on the bedside-table with a bit of flame from her wand. She set the parchment and quills on the table, and arranged the watch, paperweight, and knife on the dark turquoise comforter; the heavy, dusty spellbook she opened to a page near the end.  
Dark, calligraphic writing covered the page save the top, which bore, in embellished Gothic letters:  
**_To Chronologically Alter an Illustration:_**  
  
Hermione had never used this particular spell before, but had always thought it looked intriguing. Running a disappointingly unmanicured finger down the list of ingredients, she stopped directly under the last one: _material painting, drawing, or engraving._  
To get the portrait of Alexandria, she knew she would have to ask Malfoy, damn him...   
  
  
Draco Malfoy sat pensively before the fire in his room, gazing distractedly into the flames. There were too many questions at this stage of the game: too many unsolved mysteries. He'd need to pay another visit to the _Prophet_ stores tomorrow.  
So intensely was he buried in his own thoughts that he did not hear the door open, nor Granger's quiet footsteps as she walked toward him. So much that he was extremely startled when she said, equally softly: "Malfoy? Are you quite all right?"  
He whipped around in the chair, a sneer spreading across his face. "What do you want, Granger?"  
She ignored him, snapping her fingers sarcastically. "Oh, damn. You know, it would have been rather nice to just walk in and find you dead, wouldn't it?"  
"What do you _want_?" Draco was beginning to get impatient now. What did she want, anyhow?  
"Oh, just that little picture you showed me earlier." Her voice was coated with a sickeningly sweet overtone. "You do still have it, don't you?"  
Draco rolled his eyes and pointed to the bed, on which his cloak had been tossed. Wordlessly, he turned back to the fire and swilled the rest of his wine; the gods knew he needed it.  
  
Hermione picked up the cloak with one hand, its silken folds flowing over her like water, as she extracted the clipping. Then she laid it back down on the intensely blue bedspread, perfectly made.   
In fact, now that she thought about it, everything in his room was perfect. The stacks of spellbooks on the side-table, the pressed and hanging (undoubtedly expensive) cloaks and robes neatly lined up in his wardrobe. It disgusted her. How could someone _be_ so sterile, so detached? It was though he had no soul, no energy.  
Hermione slammed the door behind her as she left. Just being in that room, added to the fact that he was also in it, made her want to vomit.  
  
  
Back in her own half of the suite, she spread the picture out on her bed. Alexandria's baleful, shadowy eyes stared up at her as the picture slowly rose to face her in the air. Hermione began to read the spell.  
  
_With this enchantment, I decree,  
Bind the powers of time to me.  
Bring them close- space, life, and death,  
That I may quick rewind her breath...  
  
_Hermione picked up the watch and centered it in front of her, then brought down the paperweight on its crystal face. On a non-enchanted watch, the hands should have stopped running all together; on this one, they merely paused, then began to move backward, counter-clockwise. The spell was working, and the watch floated up to levitate beside the picture, leaving the jewel-shards behind on the bedspread.  
  
_Blood-red flows soul, flows death, flows time,  
And with each drop my promise bind  
To return here my time so spent  
In enchantments unevident.  
  
_She took the knife and placed its sharp point agianst her index finger, drawing it downwards and away in a quick motion. The hot, scarlet liquid trickled down her hand, but she exchanged the knife for her wand and with a muttered "_Wingardium Leviosa_," had levitated it to freeze on the other side of the portrait.  
With the spell-preparation completed, Hermione glanced down at the book once more before leaning back to perform the enchantment. She aimed her wand at the clipping.  
"Novo Chronus!"  
  
There was a blinding flash of light, and a magnetic force drew Hermione's wand toward Alexandria's very face. The room was cast in blue and green; the other items on the bed seemed to have vanished. There was only the clipping, which her wand now touched.  
As the spell began to take effect, Hermione watched Alexandria's face grow slowly younger, her body shrinking and regressing in development, her clothes growing dark and robe-like. The sleek, elegant ringlets morphed into slightly shorter, paler, frizzier curls; the face grew less voluptuous, the lips lightening and thinning. The eyes were the only part of her that stayed the same- huge, shadowy, pools of liquid ebony.   
Hermione realized that Alexandria must be at the beginning of her third year at Hogwarts by now; the point of the spell was to further investigate Malfoy's earlier comment about their resemblance. She would know for a fact that there was something beyond a mere school project going on here if, through a cruel twist of fate, Alexandria had looked like her, matured in the same ways she had... Only then would she know._ Second year should be about right_, Hermione thought, and with a horrible ripping sound, she yanked her wand away from the picture.  
The light receded; the room returned to its original color. In fact, everything was the same, save for the _Prophet_ clipping hanging limply above the bed.  
The girl standing in the same position was recognizably Alexandria, but just barely. The wide, dark waves had become medium-colored brown curls with darker shadowing, and she had shortened and paled considerably, although she'd been pale before the enchantment. Now, Hermione couldn't blame Malfoy's acute observation on drunkenness or whatever- it was all too clear that Alexandria was meant to bear a resemblance to her.  
_Now to find if there was a Malfoy in her year,_ Hermione thought strategically. But how? She couldn't just barge into Malfoy's room and ask him if, oh, by the way, did you have an ancestor who might have happened to kill this girl who's trying to get revenge through us?  
Suddenly she knew the answer.  
  
  
Hermione wound her way through the corridors beneath the mansion. Surely she could remember the way to the library! Then there it was, the tall doors towering above her. She took a deep breath and pushed them open.  
The librarian did not appear this time, and so Hermione had to look around a bit before discovering a bookcase that revolved to reveal the _Prophet_ room. Her plan was to go through the papers from that year and see if he was mentioned, but as she shuffled through the neatly labeled stacks she found nothing. In fact, there was a large section of missing newspapers from the March to June months, and she knew what had happened to them. "Damn you, Malfoy," she whispered, shoving the pile back into its cabinet vengefully.  
As she sat in thought, Hermione realized that if there indeed was a Malfoy in her year he might be in the birth announcements for.. what? 1599, subtract fifteen years.. 1584. She hurriedly found the end-of-the-year paper with all the magical birth listings for the previous twelve months, and ran her finger down the list to the _M_s.   
An excited "Yes!" escaped Hermione as she read the tiny, darkly lettered paragraph:  
  
**_Malfoy, Chalybsis._** Born to (father) Aduro Malfoy and (mother) Stella Malfoy, formerly Stella Lumen, on 4th January at the Malfoy Manor. Reported to have dark hair and eyes.   
  
Although the article said nothing more, it was quite enough for Hermione. She now knew that there was a Malfoy at Hogwarts with Alexandria, in her year, undoubtedly in Slytherin... it was too well-planned out, too perfect to be true. And of course, the present Malfoy would already know....  
  
  
  
  
Okay, I know it was short, but how cool is that? And I'm so happy to at least be getting another chapter out... this story is all coming together! I love, love, love it!  
  
  
Lots of thanks to **AHn** (Sorry that this isn't that long.. hope you'll forgive me... but I love that you 'couldn't stay away!' It makes an author feel loved!), **Anakah** (Thank you!), **Anjelika** (Oh, that's so nice to hear! Yeah, I know that last chapter was a bit confusing, but I promise it'll all come out in the wash.), **blood thirsty** (*winces* Sorry... here you go..), **Rachel Hunt** (Yay! My fave reviewer! *prepares for long parentheses...* Yes, I did! And yeah, I think so about Pansy too... I really should make her less ugly in my next stories. I don't think Draco would date a girl who was. *grins mischievously* Yeah, isn't it cool? And Peashoot.. it just sort of popped into mind, since Draco isn't the sort of person who would make an effort to memorize the names of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw girls, especially if they're such.. uh.. foreign names. OMG! Gone With the Wind is my absolute favorite book of all time! That's so cool! *laughs hyper-ish-ly* Oh, fine, here it is. Hope you enjoyed it!), **Lisa** (Yeah, we barely ever get it here either.. that's so nice of you!), **Chrissy** (Well, thanks! Yeah, it is family history... as you found out in this chapter...), **Draco's Queen**, **Nuada** (thank you! I do want to be an author when I get out of college, so that means a lot to me... yeah, they are neccessary, and D/Hr is always hard to write without getting too angsty or too fluffy and improbable...), **Icy Stormz** (Thanks! I made that one up myself!), **Meriadoc/Numantina** (Whoa, what a review! Of course it was mean, that's the best part about Draco.. he's soo dreamy and yet an incredibly bad boy at the same time.. *swoon* Thanks! Yeah, and Ginny is a little out-of-character, I guess... it just seemed to fit with the story... I tried to make Hermione still sort of her old self. Draco should never fall in love with her just because of how she looks, even though that has to be one of the inclinations... he's not the sort of person to like a girl for her deep, thoughtful insights... sorry! I tried!), **hemlock** (thank you!), **RowenaR** (Thanks, and I hoped it would be!), **Rosandra May** (Uh, maybe because I told you? *heehee* He might be... he might not...), **catherine**, **AngelzGaze** (thanks, I do too!), **Ryoko** (I should hope not!), **Fire Goddess** (Wow.. long review... I think actually I don't like my mom and dad to know I read all this stuff... not that they'd call it crap, it's just that they'd tease me about it and what not. Ugh. Thank you, though, for everything!), **Kstar74** (Perhaps...), and **Dragon from the Black Lagoon** (*cowers* Um... I don't know? Okay, whatever you say...).  
  
  
And the winner of this chapter's Longest Review Award goes to... *opens envelope* Oh my gosh, it's a tie between Fire Goddess and Meriadoc! Both of you recieve little, nonexistent Draco-with-his-Shirt-Off Figurines! Congratulations!  
  



	8. Shivers and an Uncertain Warmth

  
  
  
**Shaelune, Chapter 8 ~  
  
A/N**: You may feel really angry at me for making y'all wait so long for this, so I'll tell you first: _lots_ of stuff is going to happen in this chapter- kind-of truces, broomstick rides, illegal wee-hour wandering about, that sort of thing. Sorry this took so long! I promise to update more often now that I've gotten over my writer's block.

**~ goldenberry  
  
Hermione stormed up the darkened corridor, her path only lit by what the dim torches could cast. She couldn't remember ever being this furious in her entire life... well, perhaps when she had first discovered the horrible conditions of the Malfoy house-elves, or when Buckbeak had been convicted for something that was Malfoy's fault. _Why is it that everything that makes me angry has to do with him?_ she asked herself as she slammed the door of her small apartment.  
  
As she put away the items from her spell earlier, Hermione noticed the dark stain down the front of her wrinkled polo shirt and cursed under her breath. "Shit! How did that get there?"  
Hermione quickly changed into appropriately plain dark pants and one of her uniform oxfords (Ginny had warned against bringing them, but she'd ignored her), and grabbed her bag. The doorway to Malfoy's suite loomed forebodingly before her; breathing deeply, she walked in.  
  
The sight of his peacefully sleeping (ferretlike, she reminded herself firmly) body was enough to renew her courage and anger. Hermione was at his side in an instant, slapping at his head.  
"SHIT! OUCH!" Malfoy was suddenly awake, shoving himself across the bed away from her. "What the hell? Granger?" He seemed to be surprised, angry, in pain and rather bewildered all at once.  
"No, it's McGonagall," she said, rolling her eyes. "Now, are you going to get up or do I have to rip the cover off?" 

"Whatever, Granger," Malfoy sneered. "Turn around and I'll be ready in a second."

Hermione huffed and turned her back. "You are so incorrigible," she said angrily.

Malfoy laughed mirthlessly. "Are you planning on telling me what's going on?"

"I don't know, should I? You seem awfully smart for someone who didn't know this," she retorted, whipping out her clipping from the _Daily Prophet_.

Malfoy walked past her and snatched the paper from her fingertips. As soon as he had read it, he changed direction and grabbed his broomstick from inside the closet. "Come on," he ordered as he opened the French doors onto the balcony and levitated the broom four feet into the air.

Hermione followed him hesitantly. "What? Where are we going?" She hadn't expected this response, that was for sure. 

"Get on, Granger." Malfoy straddled the broom with ease and tucked the clipping into his robe.

Hermione was many things, but stupid was certainly not one of them. "Not until you tell me where we're going." 

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You've got your wand, right? If I end up flying you to some desolate prison in Siberia, you can just murder me and use the broom to get back yourself. Four years of flying class can't have been that fruitless."

Hermione sighed reluctantly at his sarcasm and perched behind him, settling both her legs over one side of the broom. Malfoy sniggered as they flew silently over the side of the balcony and into the night sky.

Draco thought absently that gliding past the moon and stars might have been romantic if it were with anyone less repulsive than Granger; he could see his favorite constellation twinkling near the uneven horizon, and the shadowy crescent moon hanging as though by a strand of gossamer above it. _Draco_- the dragon, he thought. Cold and reptilian and powerful. Unloving.

He was jolted out of his reverie by a girlish shriek from Granger, and felt her weight behind him vanish. Draco turned around to see her falling through the thin cirrus clouds below, and with instinct that comes only from many years of Quidditch angled his broom downward toward her. The wind whipped against his cheeks as he brought the Firebolt to a stop several feet under her; she fell into his arms with a sweep of dark curls and cold white skin. 

"Thanks," she said with a twinge of shaky sarcasm. 

Draco stared at her. "You act like you've never flown a broom before."

Granger sniffed as she placed one leg over the other side of the handle. "I just don't like flying, all right?"

"Well, there goes Potter's hope of all his best chums being on the Gryffindor team with him." 

He heard her laugh flatly. "Ha, ha, ha, Malfoy. Am I sitting _correctly_ now?" 

Draco gritted his teeth. As much as he hated the Mudblood, he really didn't want to be responsible for her death right now. "Put your arms around my waist, and you won't fall off."

Granger hesitated and then wrapped herself close to him as the Firebolt tilted upward toward the sky. Draco wondered why he'd never done this with someone else; it was nice, in the chilly northern spring, to have a warm body against his.

After another hour of flying, the broom began to descend toward land. Below them Hermione could see a forest of thick brambles, interrupted in the center by a large, silver lake. An island floated in the lake's middle; a towering castle was built on its peak, boasting turrets of African ebony that spir aled into the clouds. For all the palace's splendor, Hermione saw no bridges to the shore, and suddenly she realized where they were.

"You live on an _island?_" she asked Malfoy incredulously.

"The Isle de Mal Fet," he answered. Then, with pride, "My ancestor Sir Lancelot built it in the ninth century- perhaps you've heard of him?"

Hermione smirked. British history, she knew. "Oh, the Chevalier de Mal Fet the Ill-Made Knight. Fitting." She felt him tense and smiled victoriously.

They were coming closer, and Hermione saw that only a few of the many hundreds of Gothic windows were lit. "Where are we landing?"

"On the north balcony," Malfoy said as he aimed the Firebolt toward an expansive verandah to their left. 

As he glided to a stop on the tiled stone, Hermione shivered with discontent. The landing was dark except for what light the moon could shed, and hideous gargoyles watched over it from the corners; when she stared at one, its eyes slid silently towards her, and its fanged lips curled in a very Malfoyish sneer. She shivered again, quickly disentangled herself from Malfoy, and hurried off the broom.

Malfoy made his way to the intricately carved doors; as he turned the key, Hermione looked closely at the sluggishly moving carvings. In one panel, a flaxen-haired mermaid seemed to be happily drowning a little girl; in another, a grove of trees served as witnesses to a vampirical ritual in which dozens of necks were being feasted on and mortal blood stained the grass. She turned towards Malfoy, who had opened the door. "Pleasant lot, your family."

He ignored her and pushed forth into the darkened room. Hermione withdrew her wand and whispered "_Lumos_!" as she followed him; the globe of light illuminated a cavernous hallway lined in framed paintings. "Where are we?"

Malfoy had lit his wand as well, and was reviewing the newspaper clipping he'd taken from Hermione. "Portrait hall. Every Malfoy, from the first" He gestured to their right, where a dashing blonde man in black armor leered out at her. _Lancelot_, Hermione thought. " down to my father is immortalized here. In chronological order, of course."

Malfoy handed her the clipping. "Chalybsis Malfoy? Never heard of him, but he must be in here somewhere. 1584" He began to stride quickly down the hall; Hermione had to jog a bit to keep up. She passed legions of silver-haired men and women, each with the same nose and I-know-something-you-don't-know smirk, all unmistakably beautiful. No matter how evil they were, Hermione couldn't deny the good physical genes in the Malfoy line. Lost in her thoughts, Hermione nearly collided head-on with the heir as he came to a stop in front of her. 

Draco stared up at Chalybsis Malfoy and saw, as much as he wanted to deny it, an innumerable amount of similarities between this man and himself. With a shock of golden-white hair slicked back in the traditional fashion, and cut to about halfway up his neck, Chalybsis sneered back at him, his delicate blonde mustache tilting. His regal nose turned up the same way; the only major difference, apart from age, were his dark cobalt eyes, flashing with a sort of danger Draco only dreamed of conveying. 

"Well, this is definitely it," Granger said as she knelt on the marble floor and began to unpack her bag. 

"This is definitely what?" Draco hated not knowing what was going on.

Granger came up with a broken pocketwatch, a dusty leather book, the portrait of Alexandria de Lunariam, and a knife. But before she could say anything in answer to him, Chalybsis Malfoy began to speak.

"What are you doing, children?"

Draco turned to him, astonished. He'd temporarily forgotten the portraits could talk, and was a bit unnerved. "I'm Draco Malfoy." He hastily added, "And I'm not a child."

Chalybsis shot him a glare. "I know who you are."

Granger stood up. "Excuse us, Mr. Malfoy, but we were wondering if we could-"

The portrait furrowed its brow and interrupted her. "You, I don't know. Care to introduce yourself?"

She shot Draco a sideways look. "Pansy. Pansy Parkinson."

Chalybsis narrowed his eyes, but Draco couldn't tell whether he'd bought it or not. "Enchanted. Now, what do you want?"

Granger smiled, and Draco realized she'd extracted her wand from her pocket and was gradually bringing it upwards. "_Tempi Frigidium!_" she cried, aiming the glowing rowan branch at the portrait. Chalybsis froze in mid-smirk, and Draco coughed. "What was that?"

"Simple time-freeze spell. It should hold him for a few hours, or at least until we can get out of here." She bent down to retrieve her bag. "Hadn't counted on the talking-portrait factor, had you?"

Draco ignored her. "What's the hurry?"

Granger raised her eyebrows in her favorite _Isn't-it-obvious_ expression. "Your house is definitely not my favorite place in the world, Malfoy. And your parents are not my favorite people." She frowned. "And I really doubt that I'm one of theirs."

He started walking further down the hall, confident she would follow, if a little indignantly. "Where do you think you're going?" Granger called after him.

"My parents aren't at home, and I'm hungry." He smirked and added, "It's a long ride back to the inn."

Granger rolled her eyes and changed directions, hurrying up to walk beside him. "If we get in trouble, this is all your fault, you know."

Draco smiled inwardly. "Of course."

"Ooh, your bedroom, I presume?" Hermione commented as she followed him into a circular tower room sumptuously decorated in black and silver. "Not afraid to have dirty blood in your private sanctuary?"

Malfoy gave her a mock-innocent look. "If it matters that much to you, you can sit outside. Alone."

Hermione shuddered and didn't push it. 

He seemed to be trying to choose between the several bells that hung on velvet ropes of varying colors from the ceiling near the door. As she looked closer, though, Hermione saw that each bell was engraved with a name: _Seepy. Ellomy. Tiry. Rueby._ At the end of the row, one rope had been torn out of the ceiling.

House-elves! Hermione instantly felt the rage she'd adopted last year on behalf of the enslaved creatures begin to irritate her again. 

"I can't _believe _you," she told Malfoy angrily. "Not only are you the most despicable little piece of vermin I've ever had the displeasure of working with, you have the audacity and insensitivity to demonstrate your ill-gotten power over these poor elves in front of me. I'd thought maybe you'd begun to understand me just a tiny bit when we worked on this project, but _no_._"_ She felt like slapping him again, and managed to keep from doing so only by applying all of her self-restraint. "You're the same self-absorbed ingrate you've always been." She added to herself, "People don't change."

Malfoy sighed patronizingly. "Still entertaining hope that I'm going to become a saint and join up with you and all your buddies, Granger?" He pulled the rope that was second-from left and turned away from her, towards his bookcase. "I agree with you for once; people don't change. They can't change." He laughed derisively. "This is the way I am, and I'll always be a self-absorbed ingrate, I think you said. Just like you'll always be a smarmy know-it-all who's full of shit and can't keep her opinions to herself."

Hermione let out a catlike hiss through her teeth. Snape, she could take it from, Snape, she had to take it from. Malfoy was a different matter. 

But as he selected some book and crossed to the window, Hermione realized exactly what kind of situation she was in here, one she'd been incredibly stupid to put herself in: alone in his house, which was on an island, in the middle of the night; her only escape was on a broom she didn't know how to fly, and no one knew she was here. And Malfoy wasn't exactly a weakling, either. Much as she hated to admit it, he had a good half a meter on her in height (she'd always been petite and was much shorter than even Harry at this point), and four years of Quidditch hadn't left him with no muscular power. Plus, she observed as he waited moodily for the house-elf to arrive, he could wield quite a bit of psychological power when he wanted to. No, it was definitely not a good idea to tangle with him right now.

There came a timid knock on the door, and a house-elf clothed in a ratty sack with illegible black lettering stamped on the side scurried into the room. "Will there be anything else, Master Malfoy?" she stuttered in a high-pitched squeak.

He waved her away wordlessly, and she gave Hermione a look of sympathetic pity as she left. 

Hermione studied her shabbily painted nails; Malfoy seemed to be totally absorbed in his book. The house-elf (Ellomy, she discovered, looking at the bell he'd pulled) had left a tray of sophisticated-looking pastries, accompanied by two steaming goblets of something dark and reddish, Hermione surmised, glancing into them. How had the house-elf known Malfoy had had a guest? 

"Convenient, having a slave, isn't it?" she said loudly. 

Malfoy closed his book and took one of the goblets. "Rather. Service at a moment's notice; unquestioned authority; an all-give, no-take relationship. I'd marry one if it weren't a social faux pas." He looked Hermione up and down, taking in her slightly rumpled shirt and windblown hair. "Not that you know or care about those." 

Hermione gestured toward the goblet and raised her eyebrows in question; she'd learned to ignore his subtle insults about her background. "I don't care, have some," he said in answer, and Hermione wrapped her chilled hands around the goblet, breathing in the warmth before she sipped at it.

And nearly choked. "Wine," she sputtered inelegantly as she wiped the liquid off her mouth. 

Malfoy looked at her in confusion. "Did you expect pumpkin juice?"

Hermione glared at him. "No, I expected something not alcoholic, as you're _underage_."

He was still confused. "What?"

Hermione realized that the wizarding world didn't have alcohol restrictions. "Never mind," she said, then tried to think of small talk she could have with Malfoy. "Erm do you usually fly home by broom?"

Malfoy looked at her incredulously. "Like I'll tell you," he said as though it were obvious. "How do I know you're not gathering information for Potter?"

"It's this little thing called trust," Hermione shot back. "I hope you realize this is pathetic, Malfoy. I'm at your house, we've known each other for five years and you can't even bring yourself to make small conversation about transportation."

Malfoy shook his head. "You make it sound like we're friends, Granger; and in case you haven't noticed, we're not. In fact, I believe I've heard Weasley refer to me as your worst enemy."

"You are," Hermione admitted. "But that's not the point. It's the fact that you can't even be polite to me when I ask you a simple question that doesn't pry into your private life. It's not as though I want to know the morbid details of Voldemort's latest plot."

He snickered. "The thought of me even considering having a conversation with _you-_ the Mudblood champion of Gryffindors everywhere- about my personal life makes me want to laugh and vomit in unison, Granger."

Hermione huffed. "Fine. Can we leave yet?"

Malfoy gave her his trademark smirk as he put his goblet down and picked up his cloak, swirling the black velvet around himself deftly. "Don't you want to finish your wine?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes and swallowed the rest of the alcohol, fixing him with a glare. The wine burned her throat and she almost choked on the heady wave of dizziness she felt after downing the entire glass, but she managed to smirk back at Malfoy. He slipped the book he'd been reading into the pocket of his robe; Hermione caught the title- the collected works of Rumi- and almost laughed. Malfoy, reading poetry? Especially _Muggle_ poetry? True, she wasn't sure whether the poet had actually been a wizard or not, but it was still hard to imagine Malfoy so interested in love poems.

As she followed him from the room, Hermione looked back longingly at the untouched pastries on the tray. He was right; it was a long ride back to the inn, and she was pretty sure she'd need something else to concentrate on except his chest beneath her arms. Silently, she stole back and took one from the pile, and set off down the darkened corridor after the black-robed figure ahead.

**

Thanks so much to Elfin Warrior Maiden, AcidAngelTears, eden, jepa, L. Rynn, Lauriena, Ashley, Elizabeth Choi, LilyAyl, Star of Light, Rosandra May, RowenaR, a1tymdiva, MeMyselfI, kstar47, Padfoot AKA Tori, fluere113, AngelzGaze, Chaser, Rachel Hunt, Mae Noelle, Strife21, Nuada, Chrissy, Priya-chan, Starbrite, Epequa, Fire Goddess, and Icy Stormz. Expect my next chapter sometime before December 4th! I'm back! **


	9. Seeing and Unbelievable Events

****

Shaelune

Part 9

__

Seeing and Unbelievable Events

~~_Author's Note~~_

Hi everyone! I promised myself I wouldn't vanish for several months again, so here I am- keeping my promise! I'm kind of done with Struggle Between Souls for a while, and I've lost steam on Anyone Perfect Must Be Lying. So Shaelune is my new baby for a while! I'm honestly trying to make the chapters longer and more well-proofread this time; Chapter 8 was, like, 500 words longer than any of my previous chapters or one-shots. Also, I hope the plot is advancing a little more quickly for y'all! Hee hee! Seriously, though, I end up not liking most stories that have Hermione and Draco get together and by Chapter 4 they're making out (unless we're talking _A Lesson in Something That's Not Quite Love_, and then it's explained _really_ well). I mean, seriously. Seeing as how they _hate_ each other up until we make them fall in love, it doesn't make sense to just throw the romance in there. I really like the plot of this story, and want it to stay intact even if it takes a little longer for the love-connection stuff. But hang on! It's coming, I swear, starting maybe a little in this chapter hmmm perhaps you must read to find out yes ha ha haHA HA HA!

__

"What's love?

What's love?

It's about us, it's about trust

What's love?

What's love?

It should be about us, it should be about trust

When I look in your eyes, there's no stopping me

Come on

And put it on me

What's love?"

~~~Ashanti

"What's Love?"

Hermione instinctively clung tighter to Malfoy as he whipped around a craggy, snow-ridden mountain-peak and sped downward as a tree-filled valley came into sight. They shot straight through a cloud, and she whimpered in disgust at the mouthful of foggy vapor she'd gotten. 

"Scared?" Malfoy said nastily, and turned the Firebolt downward sharply. Hermione could feel her hair flying straight up, and sighed. There went the carefully ironed waves Ginny'd installed that morning. 

"No," she told him. "Can you skip the fancy Quidditch moves and just get us back to the inn? Maybe no one will miss you, but I have friends who are going to be worried about me." She leaned around him to look at her watch. "We've been gone for almost four hours."

Malfoy didn't say anything in response, but the broom straightened out its course, and the wind's volume in her ears told her they were flying faster.  
There was silence for awhile; Hermione had found that the less talk there was, the more questions she invented to ask the parties involved. Finally, she broke down and said something. "Malfoy?"

She hadn't really expected him to answer her at first, and wasn't disappointed when he neglected to. "Do you ever get you know, lonely?"

"What do you mean?" 

She took a deep breath. "I don't know it just seems like you don't have a lot of real friends. Crabbe and Goyle act more like servants, and Pansy's less a girlfriend and more a desperate follower who idolizes you."

Malfoy snorted in laughter. "What do you _think_ a lover is supposed to be, Granger?"

"Well, I think you should be able to talk to them feel as though you're their equal. _Love_ them." Hermione heard traces of wistful hope in her voice; she'd dreamed for years, ever since her parents had immersed her in Disney-animated fairy tales, of someone who would talk to and love her.

"Pansy isn't my _lover_, Granger," Malfoy retorted. "She wants to be, but she's just someone who happens to be convenient for ranting to and fucking once in a while." 

Hermione laughed in disbelief. "Oh, my god! You are _unbelievable_, Malfoy. Pansy's, frankly, gorgeous and devoted to you, for reasons that are totally unclear, and the most you can say about her is that she's convenient for _fucking_ once in a while?"

"You know what, mudblood?" Malfoy dipped the broom low and beneath a bridge to skim the surface of a desolate river. Hermione realized she hadn't seen any towns in a while, and that they were approaching the hill country in which the inn was nestled; she felt relieved with this reassurance that they'd be home soon. "_Fuck off_. This is none of your business."

Hermione bristled. "Excuse me?"

He was obviously enjoying this. "I said, fuck off."

"Fine. But Malfoy? This whole I've-got-an-attitude-don't-mess-with-me thing won't affect people once you get out of high school. Pansy's not going to worship you your entire life, and people won't be bribed by imaginary power forever. It might do you some good to treat someone else like they even register on your radar for once."  
"Damn it, Granger, I don't want your _advice_. I don't _need_ your advice."

Hermione had to object to the latter. "You might want to get a second opinion on that."

Draco really wished he could do something to Granger, anything, except just sit there on the broom with her slim arms around his waist and her hair fluttering against his shoulders. He wanted to punch her, slap her, make her so scared that she'd never say anything even remotely challenging to him again, but he was trapped; he couldn't touch her or even look at her from this position. How dare she ask him that, accuse him of that? Pansy's welfare wasn't _his_ responsibility; it wasn't his fault that she insisted on throwing herself at him every chance she got when he clearly wasn't interested.

He retaliated by ignoring her nasty comment from a few moments ago and switching the focus from himself to her. "What gives you the right to start throwing out your opinions on how I should live my life?"

"I do have to _live_ with you for the next week, Malfoy, as well as working closely with you on this project. At the point where you're flying me on _your_ broomstick to _your_ house- voluntarily, I might add- I deserve a little input on how you treat other people, including me, wouldn't you think?"

"No," Draco said indignantly, trying to convey his intense anger in his voice. "I really don't care about how you think I ought to treat other people. So don't elaborate. _Please_."

She sighed exasperatedly and didn't say anything else.

The inn came into view below them, a sprawling expanse of tidy hedges and shimmering ponds headed by the imposing, curving structure of the main building. Draco could even see the balcony his suite shared with Granger's and aimed for it, gliding to a halt just beside the wispy white curtains that trailed from the glass doors. 

"Okay, now you come on," said Granger in an unexpectedly cheerful manner as she hurried to get inside; the first rays of shell-pink were already streaking the navy-blue horizon. "I've got something to show you."

__

Hold me back, Draco thought derisively, and set the broom inside his wardrobe lovingly before going out to the hallway. "What is it, Granger?"

"Hang on just a second," she called from her room, and he heard her wardrobe open and close, followed by the rustling of fabric. Moments later, she emerged, dressed in a long, clingy skirt and a simple shirt constructed of some kind of draping material. "Why the change?" he asked amiably, almost mocking himself.

"Oh, I always feel a little gross after traveling," Granger answered flippantly as she led the way down the stairs. Draco couldn't stop his eyes from following her backside, which was shapely, to say the least, as she sashayed away; he'd had somewhat of an epiphany regarding her appearance in the past week. If he wasn't interested, it was certainly not due to lack of incentive.

Hermione felt slightly satisfied at having focused Malfoy's attention on her. He deserved to be tripped up by her feminine charms after being such a jerk on the ride back (not that he wasn't normally, but he had seemed unusually angry). 

The torches wavered eerily as they had much earlier that night, and Hermione carefully ducked through the back patio to avoid the concierge's desk; she didn't care to explain why she was sneaking around the inn at five-thirty in the morning. 

The library seemed somehow less imposing now than it had before; the crystalline roses, while slightly chilling when she thought about their origin, were almost comforting compared to the horrific carvings at the Malfoy Manor. They swung, unassisted, inward, and Hermione breathed in the familiar scent of paper and aged ink: the columns of tightly packed books still held the same breathtaking resonance for her because of their sheer _volume_, but Malfoy seemed unimpressed. "Isn't it beautiful?" she prompted blissfully as she wove her way through the shelves.

"You remember, Granger, I've been here before," Malfoy said with amusement. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "So have I," she replied. "It doesn't really lose its charm after the first visit."

"So many things do," he said acidly, looking her up and down. "What are we here for?"

"Over here," she said, ignoring him and making her way to the corner where she'd found several related books a few days ago. They'd all been since replaced on the shelf; Hermione, however, with years of practice, quickly spotted the gold cover of the live-experience book and deftly removed it from its companions. Malfoy came to stand next her; his expression betrayed a little curiosity, and Hermione felt a connection with him. As much as she tried to overlook it, she really didn't have many friends who could match her intellectual level. Though she didn't consider Malfoy a friend, the kinship was refreshing.

As soon as she flipped it open, the light from the book's pages extended its shimmering fingers and engulfed both of them in its brilliance, catapulting them through an abyss of darkness before they emerged at the waterfall. The librarian was already sitting atop a rock there. "Where were you when we came in?" Hermione blurted unabashedly.

"I thought I'd leave you two alone," the statuesque woman said slyly to Hermione as she unwrapped the contents scroll. "You already know what you're here for, so I won't explain it."

Malfoy interrupted. "Actually, do. Where are we?"

The librarian simply smirked and waved a gold-ringed hand; Hermione felt the blackness overtake her briefly, and then she was suddenly awake and in the night-darkened garden.

A younger Chalybsis Malfoy led Alexandria de Lunariam into the garden, and though both their eyes seemed strangely glazed, Alexandria looked nervous but excited, and Chalybsis brooding in the traditional Malfoy fashion. 

Draco Malfoy audibly inhaled beside her. "That's them," he said astutely. 

"Yes," Hermione confirmed proudly. "Back in time, courtesy of the famous Granger research habits."

"Look at them," Malfoy observed with a trace of disgust in his drawl, circling the unaware couple as they kissed passionately. "That can't be non-magical- a Malfoy would never do that voluntarily with a mudblood."

"Thanks," Hermione said sarcastically, a little surprised at her informality with Malfoy, but she got up, too. He was standing beside his ancestor now as Chalybsis broke apart from Alexandria momentarily, and she swallowed at their uncanny resemblance. The pieces of this puzzle were all beginning to fit together, and Hermione couldn't deny the chill that slammed through her as she realized the full meaning of the enchantment, and the apparent repetition history was preparing to make. She saw her fear reflected in Malfoy's granite-colored eyes, and gazed at him warily.

__

This is definitely weird, Draco summed up mentally. He and Granger standing parallel to their medieval counterparts, who seemed to be totally enthralled in each other- _weird_- and the mudblood staring up at him, her eyes haunted with the sheer poignancy of what was happening_- even more weird._ In fact, he wasn't imagining that as the de Lunariam girl's velvet-hung hand moved closer to Chalybsis', Granger's was moving toward his. She stared at him in horror; Draco realized he was mimicking Chalybsis' motions as well, and his opposite arm was wrapping itself around her waist. 

__

Too weird.

He wanted to recoil out of habit, yell something degrading at her and stalk away, but he was only (unwillingly, he told himself) closing the gap between them further by the second. His wrist was resting on the small of her back; despite the frigid winter breeze, she was warm, and Draco swore he could hear her pulse straight through her skin.

Or was that his?

And now Granger had affixed her extended hand to his, and her other was at his neck, tracing perfect patterns with her fingertips, sending unmistakable signals up and down his spine and to his brain. The couple beside them was fading into the purple twilight; Granger's fingers were entwined in his hair, which was disheveled from the journey, drawing themselves through it in involuntary wonder. Her eyes never left his, locking him into their rich chocolate gaze.

Draco had been in enough passionate embraces to know what the next natural step was, and though heady emotion was clouding his logic, he knew that he could live this down- his word over hers, who would everyone believe?- if he walked away now. But it didn't seem to be his choice, as the girl he'd hated- for her intelligence, her camaraderie, her popularity in spite of her impure blood, for just _being_ so incredibly flawless- for five years applied pressure to his neck and pulled him down to her.

And _God_. She was so innocent yet experienced, so hesitant and addictive, all soft cool hair and hot slick lips, and Draco knew that although nothing else in the past few seconds had been their doing, this was all him, and he wanted it so incredibly badly that he couldn't breathe. Granger arched herself against him in an attempt to get closer, and Draco bent further down to her; and oh god, was that her tongue? Kittenish sandpaper in his mouth, and all he could think was _Damn. Who knew?_ It was common speculation among Slytherins that mudbloods, as much as they acted studious and naïve, were really just common whores. But this wasn't the detached kiss of a Knockturn Alley prostitute; it was the urgent, deprived touch of someone who'd never been loved quite properly. The spell was telling him that he wanted to be the one to satisfy that need, but Draco didn't trust the spell after all, it'd tricked him into making out with someone who was admittedly his worst enemy. 

Hadn't it?

Hermione was, quite frankly, shocked. She was kissing Draco Malfoy. _Draco Malfoy_. As in, her archenemy. As in, she was betraying her two best friends in the entire world. As in, she was doing exactly what she'd been half-wanting the entire week. As in, what the hell had possessed him? Or her?

__

The spell, she said, answering her own question as Malfoy- all of a sudden it sounded strange to call him that; she'd never kissed someone with whom she'd been in a last-name-basis relationship- adjusted the hand whose fingers were splayed across her back and slid them under the hem of her shirt. She gasped at the cold metal of his watch against her skin, then pressed harder into him, thrilling at his touch.

But then she felt _him_ against her thigh, and Hermione's insatiable desire gave way to fear. This could only lead to one thing, and she realized that no one knew what exactly Alexandria and Chalybsis had gotten up to before he'd murdered her.

Just as Malfoy's hand found the clasp of her bra and began to work it open with knowing leisure that came only from years of practice, Hermione found the strength to overcome the spell and broke away. The overwhelming lust that had invaded her shattered around them, and the garden was quiet. Alexandria and Chalybsis were gone; Hermione recognized her own discarded clothes on the bed through the window beyond the balcony above them. How had they escaped the book?

Hermione took ragged breaths as Malfoy smoothed his blond hair back; it was useless, however, as the grease had worn off, and tousled strands of flax hung artfully into his eyes. "Was that what you wanted to show me?" he asked lasciviously, but the smirk that normally would have accompanied that remark was absent from his flushed features. 

She glared at him. "So that's the spell."

"Judging by what's just transpired" Malfoy smirked knowingly, and Hermione blushed against her will. "I'd say so."

Hermione shifted. There wasn't really a polite way to refasten her clasp without taking off her shirt; she'd just have to live till she could get back to her room. The sun was beginning to rise over the scalloped line of the horizon. "I've got to get inside."

"Hey, mudblood," Malfoy called after her as she rounded the hedge to get back to the building. Hermione nearly yanked out her wand and cursed him, but managed to restrain herself. "We're meeting in say, my room tonight?"

She sighed. "I guess we've got to." She didn't want him in her room, and the pool obviously affected them badly.

"See you upstairs, then," he leered. Hermione scowled at him and went inside.

Where Harry, Ginny and Ron were sitting in the dining hall, conveniently placed so that if she left, they'd see her. Hermione resigned herself to her fate; apparently, she wasn't going to get any sleep tonight.

Ginny grinned and beckoned Hermione over to their circle of cozy chairs. "Hermione!" Ron yelled through a mouthful of croissant, and she smiled at her old friends. With the enchantment and Malfoy, she'd barely seen them over the past few days. But there they were, just the same, Harry's unkempt hair shadowing his slightly troubled green eyes (they'd never be innocent), Ron's cheeks lumpy as usual, stuffed with food (where he put it all, Hermione would never know), Ginny's scarlet hair stylishly arranged around her freckled cheeks. Hermione settled herself happily into the empty chair beside them, and thought for a moment before removing the lid from the small platter that had appeared before her. A frothy café latte, just what she'd wanted; caffeine, a staple for friends of the constantly adventure-seeking Boy Who Lived, was always in abundance around Gryffindors.

"We haven't seen you in _days_," Harry remarked as he spread jam on a biscuit. 

"Yes, well," Hermione explained, shaking her head, "This project is really, er, difficult. We've been having to do a _lot_ of research." While she didn't enjoy lying, being vague was always an easy out.

"We?" Ron asked.Small bits of buttery _something_ flew from his mouth, and Ginny made a face.

"Her and Malfoy," Harry supplied. "How's that working out? You seemed pretty upset after the ball."

"It's interesting. He's" Hermione felt a pang of guilt at not telling her best friends everything, but she didn't think she could bear to see the looks of blame and disappointment and anger on their faces, though Ginny'd probably be excited beyond reason.

"A bastard," Ginny finished, but the younger girl glanced at Hermione suspiciously, giving her a look that said _We'll talk later._ "Right, Hermione?"

"Of course," she covered. "It's like constant competition. He obviously doesn't have much experience working with people who won't submit to him."

Ron nodded sympathetically and swallowed. "Yeah, Hannah's nice. Ours isn't hard- we got this rosebush where the flowers, they _look_ like they don't have thorns, but they _do. _And they lash out and prick people," he added quite seriously. Hermione noticed a series of crimson scratches on the back of his hand.

"Susan's all right," Harry said. "She's pretty enough, but she's got about the IQ of a block of wood."

Hermione winced sarcastically. "Wishing you'd got Malfoy now?"

Harry gagged in response. "Not by half."

Ginny rolled her eyes and sighed. "You have _no_ idea," she said, stirring her espresso. "Colin? Now I know why he annoys you so much, Harry. Every second, he's knocking on my door, popping in just to say hi,' offering to go down and get me a drink, showing me his latest research. It's a freaking _doorbell_, not the latest Middle East plot, for goodness sake." She sat back exasperatedly, her ears turning red with frustration. 

Ron laughed. "Your project's a doorbell?" 

"Sounds like someone's got a crush," Harry commented. Ginny quickly stopped laughing and looked down; the flush on her ears had spread to her cheeks, and her skin now matched her hair.

Hermione had already calmed down; the sun shining cheerfully through the picture windows, and her friends acting the same way they always had made everything that had happened last night seem sort of surreal. Malfoy was a million miles away, and she grinned in spite of herself, making Ron glance at her confusedly. "I'm just happy," she told them, and gave Ron a hug, then ruffled Harry's hair maternally. "You three are such good friends to me."

"Thanks," Harry said slowly. Ginny looked at her and motioned to the hall. "You, me, now," she mouthed, and Hermione nodded imperceptibly. "See you later, Harry, Ron," she said. "Ginny, I want to show you this hairstyle I found in _Teen Witch Weekly_. I think it'll look really good on you. The magazine's up in my room, though, want to come?"

"Okay, just a minute," Ginny agreed. As Hermione left, she decided that Ginny deserved one of the lead roles in this year's school production of _A Tale of Four Founders_; she was really quite a good actress.

~~~_Author's Note~~~_

Huh? Huh? So how was that? *nudge nudge* Hmmm, got some action there, didn't you, all you rabid D/Hr shippers? But, hang on, there's some big _Days of our Lives_-style drama coming up in the next chapter or so keep reading to find out! I just hope this doesn't become one of those stories you want to stop reading after the first eight chapters or so; I think when you put the first kiss in chapter _nine_, you sort of lose that possibility. All the people who stopped last chapter will be _real_ sorry! I passed the 3700-word mark on this chapter (yay!), and I hope, just like the real HP books, my chapters will just get longer and longer (how long is the 5th book going to be? Does anyone know?) 

My goal is to get 150 reviews for chapters one through ten, so help! I have 112 as of posting this one, and I hope the speeding up of the plot will help people to do that. And Hermione's right no one knows quite how far Alexandria and Chalybsis got before he, uh, murdered her.

Love you all, remember to review and keep reading! You have no idea how happy getting a review makes me, even if it says I suck and should delete all my fics for the good of the universe. I mean, at least you read it, right?

~~* goldenberry *~~


	10. Resolutions and Halfhearted Betrayal

****

Shaelune

Part 10

Resolutions and Halfhearted Betrayal

Ginny closed the door to Hermione's room breathlessly. "You kissed him, didn't you?" she blurted, running over and jumping to sit beside her on the bed. 

"No!" Hermione said quickly. "I mean, of course not! Why would I do that?"

"You _did_," Ginny accused smugly, pointing at her. "You _kissed_ Draco Malfoy!"

"I didn't."

"So tell me everything," Ginny said, settling in as though she'd be staying for awhile.

Hermione pressed her lips together. "Even if I had kissed him, which I _didn't,_ I don't kiss and tell."

"Oh, come on, Hermione!"

"No. Leave it."

"_Please?"_

Hermione shook her head. "It's not polite, plus, you'll hold it over my head. I know Weasleys can't keep a secret if their lives depend on it."

"That's true," Ginny conceded. "All right, don't tell me." She turned away and started looking through Hermione's wardrobe, then whipped back around. "Please?"

Hermione laughed. "What am I wearing today?" 

Ginny withdrew a black skirt that could be loosely defined as short, followed by a freshly transfigured empire-waist top in shades of gold and green. "Perfect for the aftermath of a Slytherin-Gryffindor hook-up," she said dreamily, adding a pair of black sandals to the pile on the bed.

Hermione rolled her eyes, as Ginny obviously would delude herself into believing what she wanted to, and slipped on the clothes, zipping the skirt more easily than she had when she'd tried it on last Christmas. Perhaps she'd lost weight; what with all the late-night research, she hadn't had much time to eat, and the house-elf-baked pastry and this morning's coffee were all she'd consumed the past twenty-four hours. 

Ginny brought over a pair of small, shimmering green hoop earrings and inserted them into Hermione's newly pierced ears for her. "Lovely," she pronounced, stepping back. "What are you planning on doing today?"

"Probably more research," Hermione said. "Sometime this afternoon, I guess I'll get some sleep, and tonight I have to meet with Malfoy again."

Ginny thought for a moment. "All right, don't change for the meeting," she said. "Call me when you wake up, and I'll help you do your hair, add a cloak to keep warm, and you should be okay."

"Thanks," Hermione said, half-sarcastically; Malfoy'd seemed to like her more without Ginny's help.

Draco had come upstairs through the rickety back stairs accessible from beneath the balcony, and immediately been overtaken by the stench permeating his room. A vase occupied by some kind of rotting flower stood on the end table next to his bed; the water was brown and saturated with particles of something crumbling and dark, and a note was tucked between the decaying petals of one of the blooms. Draco removed the note and muttered "_Incendio!_;" the foliage quickly bent and disintegrated under the assault of the white-gold flames issuing from his wand. The paper read:

_Draco~_

Haven't seen you latley, thouht I'd bring somthing by- should cheer you up, you seemed a littel down when I saw you last. My room number's 287- Ill be their all day if you want to come by. I might come to see you!

Ether way,

Lots of love,

~Pansy

The _y_ in her signature was clumsily curled, and Draco had to laugh at the amount of spelling mistakes in the letter. He burned it, too, and tossed the vase over the rail of the balcony, hoping to get rid of some of the smell. The shards of smoking, patterned glass crashed to the brick patio below, and muddy water trickled over them sluggishly.

Several hours later, reviewing the issues of the _Daily Prophet _he'd taken from the inn archives, he heard feminine laughing from the room next door and recognized Granger's rare giggle (he usually only got sarcastic "ha, ha, ha"s from her). A knock on the door provided happy distraction, and Draco, who hadn't yet put his wand down, waved it open with a quiet "_Aperio."_

Pansy crept in, a shy smile on her face, her golden-blond hair hanging leisurely around bare shoulders. The twilight through his partially shaded windows combined with the glow from the fire near the door flattered her, and Draco found himself comparing Pansy's kisses (when was the last time? Two, three months ago? Maybe at Christmastime after the Malfoy's annual Snow Ball during Christmas break?) to the mind-blowing one he'd just had with the now quiet girl a bathroom away from him. While the latter had definitely been fireworks-worthy due to its spontaneity and constrained feel, Pansy's had always been genuinely ardent, infused with her exhilaration at actually _kissing_ him; they fostered his ego, something always welcome, and she wasn't bad looking as a sort of trophy girlfriend, either.

She came to sit beside him, and Draco noticed her looking around for the flowers she'd sent him. "Oh, those? I put them in the bathroom; mudbloods stink, you know."

Pansy nodded empathetically. "My partner's Justin Finch-Fletchley, he's Muggle-born too. I know how you feel."

_Not unless you just made out passionately with him,_ Draco thought. "I just try to have as little contact with her as possible," he said to Pansy. "So how was your day yesterday?"

Surprise crossed Pansy's face; he supposed she wasn't used to his expressing interest in her well-being. But she covered it quickly, and bit her lip coyly, leaning closer to him. "It would have been better if I'd seen you at all. That mudblood's been monopolizing you, Draco." She toyed with the top button of his shirt and looked up at him. Pansy's eyes were amazingly dilated; for a second, he wondered if she was drunk, but he couldn't smell alcohol on her breath. She'd finished unfastening his shirt, and he beat her to the kiss. It was interesting- maybe she thought it was sexy to act girlish and innocent, then immediately start working him like a slut, tongue throughout the kiss, chest up against his, sliding one of her legs over his to straddle his lap. And he had to admit, it kind of was; not having to coax a girl into going _there_ was refreshing, as Granger had obviously hated the idea so much she broke the spell, when neither of them had been able to before. Draco wouldn't have minded doing her, it'd be a nice little conversation piece for the dinner table when they got back- "Oh, by the way, I fucked Saint Potter's favorite mudblood last week,"- and he couldn't say it wouldn't be fun. 

"_Draco,_" Pansy moaned, and he refocused his thoughts, wrapping his arms around her and standing up, feeling for the bed behind them and laying her atop the blankets. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, and he quickly unhooked and removed hers. She was willing, and at least it'd get his mind off Granger. But as he held Pansy, pliant and warm, underneath him, he couldn't help but mentally transform her straight, blonde hair into dark curls, damp with sweat but still impossibly smooth and cold.

Hermione sighed. It was after eleven; Ginny had just left after styling her hair so that careless tendrils fell across her collarbone. It was definitely going to be awkward meeting Malfoy after what had happened that morning, and she wasn't looking forward to it, but supposed she'd better go, or they wouldn't end up meeting at all.

The door was open to his room, but Hermione instantly regretted not knocking first. Malfoy was asleep in bed, chest bare (anything else that might not have been clothed was hidden beneath the covers), and Pansy Parkinson was lying beside him; Hermione got a rather excessive view of her chest, and quickly turned away. She didn't know what her reaction to that was, except that she was definitely feeling some strong emotions: happy that Malfoy seemed to have somewhat digested what she'd told him last night, sad for Pansy that he would never see her as a lover, just a toy, angry that he'd forgotten their meeting in favor of well this, and an inexplicable disappointment and feeling of betrayal that so soon after what she'd thought had been a pretty amazing kiss, he'd gone and slept with someone else. Especially Pansy, who she'd felt superior to after they'd shared the effects of the spell. Hermione was unsure of what to do; finally, after glancing back at the expression of untroubled bliss on his face, she closed the door and left.

Perhaps ten minutes later, her door clicked open, and Malfoy was standing there, wearing only a pair of wrinkled pants, his hair still not slicked back, eyes clouded drowsily. "Voyeur tendencies, Granger? Wouldn't Potter like to know, maybe he'd lock _his _door next time he fucks Weasley."

Hermione simply looked at him obdurately. "We were meeting tonight, weren't we, Malfoy?"

"Maybe. Sex tends to kind of impair one's specific memory for a while."

"We were. And don't brag that you have a prostitute ready and waiting to suit your every need, it's unattractive." Hermione closed and stacked her book neatly atop the others on her desk.

"Ooh, is someone jealous?" Malfoy took a seat in the velvet-upholstered armchair opposite her. "I told you already Pansy was convenient for fucking once in a while. I don't have any obligation to explain myself to you, of all people."

Hermione shook her head. "I honestly don't care who you fuck,' as you so delicately put it, in your spare time, as long as it doesn't interfere with my grades and my life. If you had been able to hold back your hormonal urges for a few hours until after we could meet, I would have been fine with you being with Pansy. "

Malfoy laughed. "Are you joking? Your grades _are_ your life, Granger, and you know you would still have been jealous." She gave him a skeptical look. "As much as you want to deny it, I'm pretty good at reading people's emotions, especially when someone makes it as easy as you do."

Hermione turned away so he couldn't see her face. "So you would have been fine if, totally hypothetically, I'd been late, and you'd walked in to see me in bed with Ron. Naked," she added.

Malfoy cringed in mock disgust. "Hypothetically, I would have been fine," he said. "If a little nauseated. And mentally scarred." He smirked. "But you know my reputation, and if you're really as smart as you repute yourself to be, you would have knocked first. Chances are, we might not have been sleeping."

Hermione pulled a face, then changed the subject. "Can we meet now, at least?"

Pansy walked in then, clad in a sheet wrapped around her toga-style, flushed from whatever she and Malfoy had done earlier. "Draco, honey," she cooed, then glanced at Hermione. "Oh. And the mudblood." She turned back to Malfoy and wrapped herself around him. "Is this important? Because I had something I wanted to talk to you about."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Pansy," Malfoy told her, tracing a finger down her cheek slowly, and she giggled as he escorted her through the door. 

"You're disgusting," Hermione spat as soon as she left. "To keep leading her on like that. And you're totally unfaithful to her, too."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "I think we need to discuss this morning, Granger. We seem to have different ideas of what happened."

"Oh, really?" Hermione said, standing up. "I think it's pretty clear. The time-loop spell made us imitate what Chalybsis and Alexandria were doing, and it wasn't our decision at all."

He crossed his arms, obviously ready for a good argument. "Are you sure? I'm sure we both know it wasn't exactly forced the entire way."

Hermione snorted. "Yes, Malfoy, I have a burning desire to sneak off into the woods and madly make love to you." She rolled her eyes. "In. Your. Dreams."

"_My_ dreams? Don't forget that I'm the self-absorbed ingrate who's done and deserted every decent-looking girl in the school, Granger. _You're_ the virgin Gryffindor, hopelessly devoted to permanently stringing Potter and Weasley along."

Hermione had to admit he had a point; it was a lot more plausible, or would seem that way to the school gossip mavens, that she'd have a crush on Malfoy. "How about this: it didn't happen, we never kissed, we don't go down to the pool _ever again_, and we turn in a report about the torrid love affair of Alexandria and Chalybsis without mentioning _anything_ about how it affected us."

"So keep it a secret."

"Right."

Malfoy sat down again, this time in the chair she'd been in. "Do you honestly think de Lunariam and Malfoy _told_ their classmates about what was happening?"

"What?" Hermione wasn't following.

"What if we're still channeling them? What if we only needed to be down there once for that long for the spell to affect us?"

Hermione closed her eyes and breathed deeply, telling herself it was just speculation, but she knew it was definitely a possibility. "Then we'll search your room for" what was it Chalybsis had used to kill her? "Well, weapons, and give them to someone else for safekeeping. That way you won't be able to kill me." It sounded so strange to hear herself saying that, taking precautions with her murderer's help.

Malfoy laughed. "How do you know I even have any weapons in my room, Granger? Besides, even if I don't have a dagger or something when I go into this trance, I could still drown you in the pool." He stood up opposite her. "Face it, I'm tall, you're short, I'm strong, you're a girl." He grinned and added nastily, "I'm a Malfoy, you're a mudblood."

Hermione shrugged. "Then we'll have to go to Dumbledore. This enchantment obviously isn't safe." Just as she turned to pick up her bag, her hand convulsed, and she fell to her knees, her legs becoming increasingly weak. 

"Granger?" Draco didn't like her, but he wasn't going to leave her to have a stroke or whatever was happening. "Are you all right?"

She fell backward, forcing him to catch her by the arms before she could hit the ground; her eyes were shadowed by something opaque and colorless, and her lips slightly parted. Her body shook one last time before she seemed to awake again; picking herself up, she quickly turned the tables and pushed him onto the bed.

_Whoa,_ Draco thought. _What's going on?_

_Of course. The enchantment._ It would have been something to joke about for years if Granger'd suddenly gone dominatrix on him, but this was, frankly, a little frightening; she was alive, certainly, but she was acting sort of silently robotic. But she'd caught him off guard; even possessed, the mudblood wasn't stronger than he was, and he threw her off, drawing his wand before she could even get up. "_Finite Incantatem!"_ he yelled, and she passed out again, closing her eyes this time. 

When she reopened them, they were comforting, normal brown. Draco sighed in relief. "What happened?" she murmured, sitting up.

"You proved me right," he told her. "The spell's infected you, at least."

"What did I do?"

Draco smirked. "You told me your deepest, darkest secrets and desires, including the password to your tower and an invitation to come visit you at all hours of the night."

Granger glared at him, but a slight blush spread across her cheeks. "Come on, Malfoy."

"Well, close. Your eyes glazed over, and you threw me backwards on the bed. Although that was some _serious_ temptation, using my virtuous instincts, I managed to bring you out of the trance." He glanced at her sideways. "You can thank me later."

She looked worried. "How long will it be until that happens to you?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?"

"This is insane." Granger cradled her head in her hands. "Do you know where Dumbledore's staying? We have to get him to _do_ something."

"I don't know, I'm kind of enjoying this," Draco said slyly. "You, all nervous and anxious am I really that bad a kisser, that we have to go to _Dumbledore?_"

"No," she replied quietly. "I'm just scared."

"Of me?" he said, placing a hand on his chest in mock surprise.

She was silent for a moment. "Of us. I don't want to die, Malfoy. Maybe you want to kill me, I don't know, but it's just surreal that you would go along with something we're evidently supposed to fight against."

"What do you mean?"

Granger turned her gaze toward the open window, where the wind whistled through and made the curtains swirl in a coquettish dance. "You hate Dumbedore, I know, but he's a very wise man. He knows about Alexandria and Chalybsis, and he must have immense faith in us if he would entrust us with the responsibility of this assignment. He must have reason to believe we can overcome the enchantment."

"Dumbledore's a batty old fool, Granger-"

"I know you think that! Please, just listen-"

"-so I sort of agree with you. It won't do any good to go to him."

She thought for a moment. "Right."

Draco raised his eyebrows. "So what happens next?"

"We get out on our own, I guess."

"_How_?"

Granger stood up and retrieved her bag from the bed. "My motto is that, no matter how deep you dig yourself, research is your ladder. Knowledge is power."

"So the library again?"

She half-smiled. "The library again." As she unlocked the hall door, she turned around, flipping brown curls over her shoulder. "Oh, and Malfoy?"

Draco frowned. "What?"

"Thanks."

A/N:

Well, I wanted to make this chapter a little longer, but the ending just happened. It isn't my fault! Now for my thank-yous to everyone, which I haven't done for a while- thanks so much to:

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Mirrors Reflection- Don't worry, I will! I like it too!

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Eclectia88- Well, thank you! I was worried that I would get stuff wrong, setting it in Ireland, seeing as how I've never been there, but apparently I haven't. Please keep reading, I want to see what you think of the next chapters!

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Felicity

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Rachel Hunt- ******cowers** I'm so sorry! **cries** The whole Sir Lancelot thing? I had to read _The Once and Future King_ for English, and there's a thing in there where after he betrays Arthur with Guinevere, he goes mad and renames himself the Chevalier de Mal Fet (Knight of Bad Faith). It's like, connection! So I thought that would be cool to stick in there just for fun. Yeah, I think some of his attraction to Hermione is that she stands up to him, insulting him, etc. The alcohol thing just popped out- I mean, he wouldn't exactly have Coke or anything, and wine just seemed like something Draco would think of as normal, and Hermione would see as scandalous. No, no fight, but in the last chapter whoa! I hope you're enjoying, keep reviewing, okay?

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Avi- Please do!

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Jepa- I thought it was pretty clear obviously if the portrait knew who Hermione was, it'd tell Lucius, and then Draco would be in sooo much trouble thanks, that means a lot! You're welcome, thank you!

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2 people who didn't leave their name

Mars- Here it is!

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Amber- Wow! Thanks!

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Avi- Sure thing, and thanks for the diction comment!

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Depth- Thanks, I'll try, and I will!

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Song*Breeze- Glued? And I will when I have time, I try to check out those of all the people who are nice enough to review!

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Dr. Linkinshlof- is not a guy- Interesting sn Thanks for the help! Some people have said Ginny's really out of character, but JK doesn't develop her much besides her crush on Harry, and I think by the time she's in fourth year she might have matured a little, don't you? Thanks!


	11. Surprises and a Tempest in a Wineglass

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Shaelune

Part 11

Surprises and a Tempest in a Wineglass

Harry and Ron had, coincidentally, been roomed across from each other, and the inn's sumptuous velvet furnishings didn't bother Ron (who hadn't yet gotten over the dress-robe incident last year) quite as much when he and Harry were having a manly bottle of butterbeer by his friend's fire. 

"So, what do you think about the Malfoy situation?" Harry said after a long, pensive silence. 

"What?" 

Harry sighed. "What is it with Dumbledore? One minute he's on our side, and the next he's off rooming Hermione with Malfoy." He closed his eyes wearily. "I'd have rather had Malfoy than Hermione have him. I can take care of him; I've certainly had enough experience. With him _and_ his father."

Ron snorted and raised his eyebrows, further elongating his already narrow face. "Didn't you see her slap him third year? He didn't bother us for another month, at least. _You've_ never hit him."

"Yeah, but I want to." Harry laughed. "I just worry about her sometimes, you know? I mean, we've always been there for her safety in numbers, I guess but Malfoy's so twisted. I hate not being able to protect her."

Ron didn't answer. Since Hermione had gotten angry with him for being overprotective' in fourth year, he'd decided to just subtract himself from her relationship equations with other people. It had gotten increasingly difficult; he didn't know why, but every time he saw her laughing with Krum, walking with him, dancing with him, a confusing, horrible strain of envy had begun to eat at him. He didn't _like_ Hermione. He just wanted to make sure she didn't get into trouble. Yeah, that was it.

The door creaked open, and Ginny walked in briskly and unannounced. "Harry, do you have any charms or anything you've used to get rid of Colin Creevey, at least temporarily? He wants to go for a nice, quiet _walk_ to talk about our project." 

She looked pointedly at Ron, who, forgetting Hermione for the moment, chimed in conspiratorially. "Mum's always told Ginny to never go for an unchaperoned walk with any boy until she's old enough to Apparate."

Harry shrugged helplessly. "No, I always had to just endure it at least tell me he doesn't take pictures."

"_Constantly_," Ginny began in exasperation as she sat down heavily in the third armchair by Harry's fire. "It's always Ooh, let's take a picture of the doorbell _mechanism_ so we can see if it moves on its own,' as if we couldn't tell just by looking at it, or Oh, Ginny, you look so pretty when the sunlight hits your iris at that angle _wow_, this'll make a great shot for my scrapbook' Who cares about his _scrapbook_? And someone should tell him that _no _girl likes getting her picture spontaneously taken for eternal immortalization in the Colin Creevey Encyclopedia of Nutter Photos." 

"Needed to rant a little, Ginny?" Ron said slowly.

"Yes, thanks," Ginny said, the angry expression she'd put on fading. "So ignore it, then. Thanks for the help, Harry."

Harry didn't catch the sarcasm, or if he did, he did a deadpan job of hiding it. "Anytime."

As Ginny made her way to the door, she stopped as though she'd forgotten something, then turned around. "And by the way, about Hermione?"

"Yes?" Ron blurted in spite of himself. Ginny was Hermione's best friend; she'd have the inside scoop on what was going on with Malfoy.

"Keep an eye on her," Ginny advised. "I think there' s something going on she doesn't want us to know about."

"Why wouldn't she want us to know something?" Harry asked, sounding a bit insulted.

"I mean, I can understand," admitted Ginny. "If it was something she didn't think you'd agree with, or something she'd be embarrassed to talk to boys about she didn't tell you about going to the dance with Viktor until you right well forced it out of her, did she?"

Ron frowned. "Well, no, but that was different. It's not like she's doing anything with Malfoy." 

Ginny raised her eyebrows, then laughed, but Ron was still a little disconcerted. Hermione obviously wasn't telling them everything. "We're her _best friends_," Harry said adamantly, glaring into the fire. "Doesn't she know we'll always understand?"

"Ron didn't exactly understand about Viktor, did he?" Ginny argued perfectly seriously. "In fact, if I recall correctly, he summed up the situation as fraternizing with the enemy.'"

"Hey!" Ron interjected, then realized he had said that, and, when Ginny repeated it back, it did sound jealous and petty.

"Well, she should at least know _I'm_ here for her," Harry said, abandoning all pretense that they were in this together.

"_Hey_!" Ron said angrily, leaning forward in his seat.

"Only kidding, Ron," Harry assured him with a grin.

"Both of you should be there for her," Ginny told them patronizingly. "But I highly doubt that any plugs for your character are going to earn you her trust at this point. Leave the detective work to the experts." She twirled her wand slyly and winked boldly at Harry, then got up to leave. "I'm going to try and find the kitchens and avoid Colin, do you want anything?"

"I'm fine," Harry replied as Ron began listing several types of pies and a few different coffee flavors he'd like. 

"You sure you don't want anything?" Ginny whispered to Harry with a smirk. "_Nothing_?"

"Well"

"All right then," Ginny said flippantly as she crossed to the door. "See you later." Opening the door, she turned her right palm to Harry discreetly. It read in the familiar, busily scrawled Weasley script: _11 o clock. Fountain Garden._

He nodded almost imperceptibly, and she grinned as she left. Harry stopped then, realizing what had just happened. Ginny, shy little oh-my-gosh-it's-Harry-Potter Ginny, had just asked him out. And she'd done it so confidently, so smoothly, that he had trouble believing she hadn't cast a Courage Charm before she'd walked in. Amazingly, he hadn't gone totally rigid and silent, and had said yes.

_Ginny_. Huh. Who'd have thought?

"Malfoy, we don't have _time!"_ Hermione protested as Malfoy led her through the maze of chairs and tables in the main dining hall. It was late, but it looked as though most of the contingent of students had roused themselves for a midnight snack and some loud conversation. Here and there, Hermione saw a book sprawled open on the table beside a quill and ink bottle, but most of her contemporaries seemed quite content to take a break for now.

"Loosen up a little, Granger," Malfoy replied as they rounded the corner, through a wooden-carved doorway glittering with tiny, glowing lights, and into a dimly lit bar. A three-piece orchestra was set up in the far corner; the keys of the piano and bow of the violin were depressing and sliding themselves. Polished wooden stools with seats upholstered in deep red velvet were queued up along the bar, and a few round, almost completely enclosed booths were nestled in the corners. Some fifth-year students Hermione recognized vaguely were shadowed, quietly talking and laughing, by the ivy-covered walls. The dark green leaves climbed high into the domed ceiling, reaching their zenith at the top of a tall, branchless tree that was gnarled and old, and twisted itself down to the floor, where its roots sunk into the floor as though it were soil and not crimson carpet. 

"_Wow_," Hermione breathed quietly. The orchestra launched itself into a new song, one sweeping and jazzy and deeply satisfying. Malfoy slid easily into one of the booths, and she hesitated, then sat down across from him as he took up the quill and neatly embellished parchment that lay atop the circular table's glossy surface. Hermione caught a glimpse of what he'd written, reading the inky green script with the enviable speed she'd developed over years of poring over books in the library. She sighed and took the paper back, just as it began to sparkle and vanish. Malfoy quickly reached over and pried it from her fingers, letting it disappear with a faint, minor-key trill. "I told you, I'm not allowed to have alcohol," Hermione reiterated angrily.

Malfoy repositioned himself on the couch with an infuriating lack of interest. "Come _on_, Granger. It's not as though your parents are watching over you every second. Live a little. Besides," he added as two shimmering, purple, highly alcoholic-looking beverages appeared between them, breaking in tiny lavender-capped waves against the sides of their crystal goblets. "I need a drink, you need a drink, the inn sells drinks if you don't make a commotion about being a student." He raised his glass as if to make a toast. "Have some. Take a risk."

Hermione regarded him carefully. She couldn't recall a time when he'd been perfectly serious; whether it was appropriate or not, that insinuating smirk was perpetually tugging at his lips, and his otherwise stony eyes danced with amusement at every comment she made. He hadn't had time to poison the drinks, and she trusted Dumbledore's taste in an establishment.

Before she had a chance to regret it, Hermione shot out her hand and wrapped it around the cup, then slowly raised it to meet Malfoy's outstretched one.

"Good girl," he murmured with a full-on smirk as their goblets clinked melodically and Hermione took a small sip. The violet liquid was potent, tasting of rum and grapes and was that chocolate? It wasn't bad, she had to admit. Definitely better than the wine she'd had at Malfoy Manor.

Hermione ran over her thoughts, then started involuntarily in alarm. She was willingly having drinks with Malfoy? It wasn't the spell now, she couldn't blame it on anyone but herself. What if Harry or- worse- Ron walked into the bar? What would they think?

But then the alcohol injected itself into her system, and Hermione's head swam briefly with a pleasant feeling of disregard. What had she been thinking about? Somehow she couldn't remember. Hermione looked askance at the stormy glass. God, it was strong. "What _is_ that?" she managed.

Malfoy laughed, and Hermione felt her eyebrows sharpen downward. "What is so funny?"

"You've never had alcohol before this week, have you, Granger?"

Hermione thought for a moment; it was like trying to swim upstream to access her more sensible memories. "Well, no, but-"

Malfoy snorted. "You should have told me, I wouldn't have ordered something so strong"

"What is this, Malfoy?" Hermione asked again, getting more enraged by the second. She could feel her emotions augmenting, but that only increased her anger; she hated being irrational.

"Just the house specialty," Malfoy said through a bout of very un-Slytherin giggles.

Hermione, with some effort, squinted at the perfect cursive the menu was written in on the opposite wall. _House Specialty: Raisin Tempest_, it said in twinkling blue letters, and then, smaller: _A hurricane of currant and cocoa that will bring even the most judicious wizard to his knees._ "Perfect," she mumbled sarcastically, sitting back. She could feel the beginnings of a migraine throbbing in her temple, and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. Against a cool, soft pillow, under downy sheets mmm

Draco had to laugh. Seriously, if he'd known Granger was such a liquor virgin, he wouldn't have ordered the Tempest. But it'd seemed like a good idea at the time; whenever he was stressed over schoolwork or other troubles, he solved it by sneaking down to Hogsmeade (he'd used a very secret passage starting behind a portrait of Emer the Evil, a very mad-looking goblin with only one eye; the other socket wasn't even hidden behind a patch, and was the subject of many groans of disgust from the girls in the house) and the Hog's Head tavern. The tavern-keeper, Fillinch, knew his father, and was always obliged to slip him a Firewhiskey or two.

But Granger? Drunk? It was better than he ever could have imagined. Imagine if Potter or Weasley knew their future Head Girl had been spending her nights making out with and getting intoxicated alongside their worst enemy. They'd have a fit; he could just picture Weasley's unabashedly crushed look, and Potter's I'm-so-disappointed-do-you-have-any-idea-how-this-affects-me expression. 

But he wouldn't tell, and, when sober, Granger knew it. Draco frowned deeper as he thought about the consequences of his fellow Slytherins finding out. Or worse, Lucius. 

Granger had fallen asleep, which was good in a way, seeing as how if she hadn't she'd probably be in a drunken stupor. A curtain of hair lay across her face, rising and falling with every whiffling, quiet snore. Draco glanced surreptitiously around before sighing reluctantly and pulling out his wand. "_Clario sobriem_," he whispered, and a headily fragrant cloud of pink smoke wafted from his wand, swallowing her in its rosy warmth; Granger's eyelids fluttered open, and she seemed to take a second to regain her senses before glaring murderously at him, suddenly temperate.

"I can't be_lieve_ you would intentionally do that to anyone, Malfoy," she said irately, gathering up her bag as he fished in his pocket for a Galleon. "Come on, we've got to get to the library."

Draco watched as she stormed resolutely from the bar, narrowly avoiding the tree-column in its center, curls hanging sleepily around her flushed cheeks. He doubted she even knew how easy she was to rile, to figure out and push the buttons of. It _was_ a game to him, he realized with a surprised smirk. The knowledge that she trusted him just enough to allow him to play with her like this made his Slytherin ambition go haywire.

(A/N: Oh, Slytherin ambition, that's what he calls it, eh?)

"Fine, fine, have a stick up your ass if you want to," he conceded, catching up to her as he flipped a brightly glinting Galleon to the bartender. She was silent, and he laughed softly. "Come on, Granger, be civil. It'll be a lot less traumatic to have me passionately attack you if you're speaking to me when it happens."

"That doesn't make any sense at all," Granger spat, looking straight ahead as they began their descent down the spiral stairs to the library.

"Because everything has to, right?" 

"What's the point of trying to understand if it doesn't?" she retorted. Draco blocked her way on the staircase, extending his arms to the walls two steps below her.

He reached up and placed his middle and index finger under her chin, turning it towards him gently but firmly. She stared tenaciously at him with slightly watery eyes, her mouth set in an expressionless frown. "Sometimes you have to do things without analyzing them four hundred times first," he advised, barely audible.

Granger narrowed her eyes and shook her head away from his hand. "You have no idea who I am or why I do the things I do, Malfoy. Get out of my way."

"I know exactly who you are, Granger," he shot back, ascending a step closer to her. "You think I haven't watched every move the Wonder Trio's made for the past four years? I know about your jealous feuds with Weasley over your affair with that Bulgarian oaf. I know about your little late-night adventures under the invisibility cloak. I know you're the one who figured out the Chamber of Secrets, then got herself Petrified. You're smart but you have absolutely no clue how to live life. There's no reference book on how to have a relationship when you've got an overprotective admirer who won't make a move on you himself, but won't let anyone else either." Granger's eyes widened, and as he raised his head to whisper into her ear, he could feel her trembling involuntarily. "If he can't have you, no one can, is that it?"

"I- you- god, Malfoy" she sounded frightened and exasperated at the same time.

His lips were about a centimeter away from her neck, and her hair was cold against his cheek. Her chin was tilted upward, and he saw from the corner of his eye that her eyes were closed- it was hard to tell whether it was in ecstasy or in fear. Slowly, carefully, he moved closer until his mouth pressed feather-light against her skin, gliding under her ear, across her jawline to her lips.

"Yeah, that's it," Granger said shakily, as though it took a lot of courage and effort, and pushed past him down the staircase. Draco sighed.

Hermione bit her lip in confusion; she could feel tears welling inside behind her eyes. Loud footsteps sounded on the flagstones in the hall behind her, and Malfoy grasped her by the back of her delicately woven shirt and spun her around. "What the fuck was that, Mudblood?"

"Oh, don't start, Malfoy," Hermione said, glancing at his hand on her shirt and rolling her eyes.

"Start what?" 

"Your pile of shit about Ron and- god, why do you insist on judging people you know nothing about?" She looked down again. "And let go of me!"

"What are you _talking _about, Granger?" His grip loosened, and she stepped hesitantly away.

Hermione glanced at him. She hadn't been able to see his eyes while he'd been oh, she didn't want to think about it 

"It's the spell," she announced firmly, whirling around and taking off at a run towards the library. Malfoy followed her, albeit with a little more leisure.

"Granger, what did I do?" he called after her, sounding extremely confused.

Hermione hurled herself through the door to the library, this time scanning the shelf labels for protection spells. Rifling through the titles, she went into full-on research-under-pressure mode; not even Malfoy, smirking to himself over a pink copy of _An Illustrated Guide to Contraceptive Charms_, could distract her. She pulled out several thick, archaic-looking volumes, gasping under their weight, and set them down heavily on the nearest table. A cloud of smoky dust rose from them with a clap of leather on wood, and Hermione gingerly opened the top one, blowing softly to scatter the layer of grime settled on its first page. 

"Defense Against the Dark Arts: An Investigative Approach," Malfoy read amusedly from behind her. "Granger-" he flipped the cover back, sweeping his hand over the moldy binding. "-it's a Hogwarts textbook! A really old, really _big_ textbook. That somehow made its way halfway across the country to an underground library deep in the heart of Ireland."

Hermione laughed derisively and turned to the contents page, running through it quickly as her index finger glided over the words. "It doesn't make any sense, but things rarely do here."

"That's not what you said earlier," Malfoy said a little more seriously, sinking into the chair beside her.

Hermione didn't look up. "Oh, so you remember that much?"

"I remember everything up to- up to that," he said, his eyes clouding over in concentration. "What happened after?"

"Oh, not much," Hermione said hurriedly, burying herself further in the stack of books in an attempt to dismiss his questioning.

"_Granger_." The books flew off the table and slammed onto the uncarpeted floor, making Hermione jump in surprise and the other furniture shudder at the impact. Malfoy was staring at her expectantly, arms crossed, wand out and still sparking from the spell.

Hermione responded just as staunchly, shooting "_Malfoy,_" at him as she levitated the books back onto the table. "Do you have any idea how much this hurts?'

"What, being thrown onto the floor?" Malfoy smirked audaciously as he stood. "Because I assure you, in the right context, it doesn't hurt at all."

"What?" Hermione frowned in confusion, and then understanding, followed by disgust. "Oh _ew!"_

"Don't pretend you haven't fantasized about it, Granger," he said all too knowingly, his wand's angry red flush starting to fade. 

"I haven't," she stated with a wobbly case-closed expression, and turned back to her book, the subject of revealing what he'd done under the spell's influence apparently forgotten.

Hermione was well into the third book in the stack (Malfoy'd taken the second to leaf through), her nose almost touching the page she was reading so closely, when Malfoy whispered "_Shit_,"and his body began to convulse as though he were having a seizure. Hermione's first instinct was to push her chair as far away as possible, but she'd found what she was looking for; reaching for her wand, she aimed her wand at his cough-racked chest and shouted "_Finite Incantatem_."A blue jet of light issued from her wandtip and struck Malfoy in the heart, making him slump lifelessly to the ground. He didn't seem to be breathing; Hermione anxiously knelt beside him, pointing her still-warm wand at. 

"_Ennervate_," she tried nervously. He shook slightly, and one eye opened, then the other. Hermione sighed heavily with relief as he picked himself up off the ground; the sigh caught in her throat as he gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. "Let go of me!" she ordered for the second time that evening, but this time he didn't listen. Malfoy removed his wand from his pocket and deftly pointed it at her.

_"Expelliarmus._"

Hermione felt panic churning in her abdomen as her wand wrenched itself from her grasp and flew to Malfoy obediently. She was flung across the room, hitting the wall limply with a resoundingslap. And, again, she wanted nothing more than to sleep dark curtains swathed her eyes, and she fell.

**~~~Author's Note~~~**

Hey all! It's been a week, but this is a long chapter(four thousand words!), which I hope will make up for my absence! It's good to be back, and I'm actually hoping to resolve this story and finish it by the summer. I promise you it'll be satisfying heh heh maybe there'll even be a sequel! But I'm bad at predictions, I don't even know where the next chapter is going until I write it. Stay tuned! 

Muchas gracias to:

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KeeperOfTheMoon- I used to be a bit of a BSSM fan myself, but I've graduated to HP thanks for the praise, hope this chapter answers a few of your mysterious questions!

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Jedi Princess- Wow, thanks! Hope soon and often' apply to this!

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Love in Vein- Finally some recognition! No, just kidding, I hate OOC D/Hr stories they're kind of depressing, actually yeah, that's what I thought too! It takes a change in appearance for Draco to notice Hermione in the first place, but I didn't want to make it the plot of my story.

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Emmy- oh my god, thank you so much! I love people who review every chapter as they read it really shows that you like the story plus it equals lots of reviews ******evil grin** Anyway, thanks for all your wows and compliments, please keep reading! P.S.- I'm aiming for maybe twenty-five chapters maximum.

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Kar- Compelling! Wow! Well, hopefully it won't end for a while yet

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Sila-chan- Yes, it's a cruel, cruel world You don't have to wait anymore!

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Rachel Hunt- Oh, darn **tear** I love your long reviews well, give me one this time, okay? I totally sympathize, by the way- my teachers are cramming on the homework right before the holidays. Ugh.

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Dr. Linkinshlof-is not a guy- thanks!

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Lilie Blaze- Oh well, I didn't abandon my story! Keep checking for updates, they'll happen frequently!

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Avi- Yes, silly you! Thanks!

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jepa- Ooh, hope you liked this chapter, then! Did he? I'll have to go see it again and make sure hmm

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kar- well, many reviews equals good I know the feeling, I hate authors who leave people in suspense! **slaps self** Uh, yes I am working on chapter 12 yes uh

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Felicity- Okay, well, two days isn't bad, right?

Well, that's it for now, I guess!

Hey- does everyone know this fic is over a year old as of one week ago? Wow! And only eleven chapters I suck

See you next time!

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~*goldenberry*~


	12. Sex and Damned Amnesia

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Shaelune

Part 12

Sex and Damned Amnesia

"_Life is a mystery_

Everyone must stand alone

I hear you call my name

And it feels like home

When you call my name

It's like a little prayer

Down on my knees

I wanna take you there 

In the midnight hour

I can feel your power

Just like a prayer

You know I'll take you there"

~~~Madonna

"Like A Prayer"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he rounded the corner of the stone wall that outlined the Fountain Garden. He could hear shouts and girlish giggles, accompanied by the pounding drums and high-pitched guitar riffs of the Weird Sisters. He'd sort of gotten the impression that it was a private date, but apparently Ginny'd invited him to some big party, and he was a bit scared they'd get caught- he was sure Dumbledore hadn't given his classmates permission to trash the gardens of the mansion.

Ginny emerged from the throng of dancing people, their sweaty faces illuminated by the moonlight, and dashed over to him, throwing her arms around his neck ecstatically. "Harry! We didn't think you we're coming, it's late!"

"Er- well, it's just-" Harry stuttered. He didn't really want Ginny to know he'd spent half an hour trying to do something with his hair to make it lay semi-flat, at least.

Ginny grinned and slid her hand down his arm to clasp his. Her skin was cold; it was explicable, however, as it wasn't exactly the south of France in August around here, and she was wearing an extremely skimpy gold confection of a dress fastened in the back with a complicated pattern of laces. "Never mind, you're here now," she assured him, and led him through the opened gates into the courtyard.

The ground was flagged with alternating black-and-white tiles; a giant fountain sparkled in the center of the garden, a tower of at least a dozen circular tiers overflowing with clear, azure water. Rivulets poured down at an angle on the guests, some of whom Harry recognized: Seamus and Dean were dancing with two fourth-year Ravenclaws, who looked impressed with the shameless Muggle breakdancing being performed nearby by Justin Finch-Fletchley. Lavender was slow-dancing to the currently playing fast song with Terry Boot, with whom she looked rather enamored; Parvati was laughing very loudly and drunkenly, as she tipped her head backwards from her position in the bottom tier of the fountain. Her white shirt was soaked through to the point of transparency. Colin Creevey was aiming his camera at her; when he brought the lens down, his expression clearly said _Oh my god, what am I doing here with all these popular people, some of whom are wet and half-naked?_

Which was exactly what Harry was thinking, except that his thought was quickly followed by _Why didn't anyone _tell_ me about this?_ Then, _Wait. I'm popular, aren't I?_

Ginny led him over to the side of the courtyard, which was overhung by the bottom of a balcony that extended from the actual building, and where a hastily set-up table had been festooned with several types of cake, a tower of frosty cans of various wizard drinks, and a murky-looking bowl of punch that smelled suspiciously and strongly of Valdestulte Elixir. Ginny proffered a cup of the punch, which seemed to be giving off some sort of steam, but Harry shook his head quickly and reached for an ice-encrusted can of Batwing Brew instead. She laughed and withdrew her wand from- where did she get it from, in fact? Harry wondered about this; one minute she didn't have it, and the next it was firmly enclosed in her hand. "_Purge,"_ she whispered to the cup, and the pink liquid frothed and bubbled before the steam turned opaque and rose upward in a curling mist. "It's fine now."

"Wow," Harry commented. That hadn't been in any of his spellbooks.

Ginny poured a cup for herself, murmuring "_Repete Incantatem_" to it, and handed one to him. "When you grow up in a house with two brothers who are constantly spiking your morning oatmeal with household cleaners, you learn a few tricks."

Hermione wrenched one eyelid open. Wherever she was, it was dark; she couldn't see further than a foot in front of her, and none of the mansion's ubiquitous torches hung from the walls. 

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Oh, my god, she realized with relief. She was lying in a bed. 

Only it wasn't hers.

Panicking, she sat up quickly, taking in the demurely shining gray curtains and black bedspread. It was a room in the mansion, as the familiarly paneled glass doors were tightly closed beside her, but it was deep night and Hermione couldn't tell anything else about the room. And then she inhaled the faint smell of smoke and metallic, strange blood, and she knew where she was.

"Malfoy!" she yelled, reaching for her wand in her skirt pocket. It wasn't there; suddenly the events of the night flashed back to her. He'd Disarmed her and he had her wand.

"_Malfoy!_"

There was silence for a few, tension-infused seconds, and then, from somewhere in the darkness, a slow, mocking drawl: "I'm not deaf, you know."

Hermione ignored him. "I want my wand."

"Can't have everything you want."

She flung her legs over the side of the bed, so she could see beyond the curtains that hung at its foot, and the flickering light of the fire was suddenly visible. "_Give me my wand._"

Malfoy's bent head was silhouetted against the firelight, and he almost laughed, a sort of pitying snort. "Don't whine, it's not very attractive."

"What did you do to me, Malfoy?"

He turned to her, and suddenly his entire face was thrust into high relief, eyes serious and wild at the same time, hair extremely disheveled. "How should I know?" 

Hermione sighed and held out a hand. "Wand?"

He glared at her, eyes narrowed, for a moment, then, in a blur of pale hand and fully-unbuttoned white shirt, handed her a long, glittering column of moonlight that lay heavy and comforting in Hermione's palm. His was out now too, a slender, pointed branch of impenetrable, highly polished oak.

Hermione inhaled deeply and her rowan wand began to glow blue, illuminating the room with fluorescent ultramarine light. Malfoy's wand started to gleam pale gold, and Hermione let the force of the spell pull her toward him, the magnetism increasing until finally their wands locked at the tips. _"PrioriIncantatem,"_ she breathed.

Malfoy jumped back as his wand began to smoke. "What the fu-"

"Shh, shut up!" Hermione ordered, watching intently.

Her sleeping form rose upward from the wand, a ghost of roiling gray clouds, and gradually vanished into the ceiling. "That's _Corporis Leviosam,_" Hermione observed, grabbing a loose piece of parchment, which began to write down what she was saying.

Next, a rushing, increasingly loud wind rose in the room, whipping the bed curtains haphazardly, then stopped just as abruptly. There was total quiet: Hermione tried to speak, but no words would come. Malfoy, too, was gulping like a fish out of water, attempting speech. When finally that enchantment vanished as well, they both shouted "_Confutio!"_ in unison. 

"The Suppression Spell," elaborated Hermione suspiciously. "What exactly did you need that for?"

He didn't answer, as long, rippling cords were spitting from the wand, coiling themselves at his feet in huge thick piles. "_Funis Vinculie,"_ Malfoy pronounced after a moment's concentration. Words silently blossomed onto the pad beside them. Hermione's face was ashen. "The Bondage Curse? Malfoy, what did you do?"

Lastly, the shadow of Hermione's wand flew from his, bouncing soundlessly off the arm of her chair before fading into the dark carpet. "And there's the Disarming Charm," Hermione said, gripping her actual wand more tightly as she, with some effort, ripped hers from Malfoy's. "I'll be right back, I have to check something."

Ginny felt fatigue wash over her, weighing down her eyelids. She fell gently forward, her head resting against Harry's chest, and wrapped her arms around his neck almost childishly, as a sleepy little girl would to the one carrying her. The music she'd relegated Neville to choosing was slowing down now; the straining chords of a ballad wafted through the breeze. Beside her, Lavender and Terry were pressed so close she couldn't even see the light of the waxing moon between them; Seamus seemed to have left his younger Ravenclaw dancing partner in favor of, er, _comforting_ Parvati. And after half an hour of inane chatter with Harry over carefully non-spiked punch, she'd asked him casually to dance. Ginny noticed he hadn't needed any persuasion.

She wondered if Harry purposely separated himself from the social events at Hogwarts. _You'd think with all the troubles he's got, he'd need some distraction_, Ginny thought. But she never saw him at Parvati and Lavender's monthly parties in one of the underground halls Fred and George had found last year, nor had he been at the huge end-of-term celebration last year, preceding the Third Task by a week, which seemingly the entire school had attended. He was certainly enjoying this party, though, or so Ginny perceived. Harry's eyes were half-closed, and he was clasping himself tightly to her, using his arms around her waist as leverage. She could feel it every time he breathed if she tuned out the muted conversation of the people around them and the music, she could make out his heartbeat. 

"Ginny?" he said quietly, startling her out of her reverie and making her look up _way_ up at him. "Er thanks for inviting me."

Ginny tilted her head down again so he couldn't see her scowl petulantly. They were slow-dancing, she could almost hear the electricity crackling between them, and all he could say was thanks for inviting me'?

Harry must have realized she wasn't pleased with what he'd said, and so in his habitual fashion began to babble on about how nice Terry and Lavender looked together and asking rhetorical questions about Parvati's incident in the fountain and who'd spiked the punch. Ginny bit her lip, her forehead pressing into his chest, then grasped his hand one more time. 

"Let's get out of here," she whispered.

She led him through the maze of thorny hedges, peeking into openings for a solitary garden. About twenty meters away, she spotted one that was empty, flagged with the same black-and-white tile, its leafy walls sparkling with faerie-lights. "This is good," Ginny observed, and resumed their dancing; the strains of the ballad still faintly reached her ears, and she swayed in time to the slow beat.

"What are you trying to do, Ginny?" Harry leaned down to her ear through a curtain of red hair, his breath on her neck.

Ginny shifted back so her face was parallel to his. "I'd have thought it'd be obvious by now." She giggled. "Maybe you're not the most perceptive person in the world, but come _on_."

Harry looked anxious. "Ron"

Ginny rolled her eyes and glanced at the entrance to the garden. Deserted. "Don't worry, Harry, do something for _yourself_ for once." She trailed a finger down his oxford, curving slightly around the buttons. "You're so selfless do you realize that every time you do something, you're worrying about someone else's well-being? You deserve happiness too, you know."

"I know," he murmured. Ginny's metallic-painted nail worked the top button open. "But"

"It's _okay_," Ginny told him slowly without making eye contact. "No one's going to get hurt. No one's putting it in _Witch Weekly_." She looked around and stepped suddenly closer to him. "No one's watching."

"Oh, so we only er get together in secret, is that it?" His voice had a playful tone now, and Ginny almost sighed in relief. 

"Whatever you want," she told him, finally gazing up, as she'd undone all the buttons. "Do I need to give you a minute to _think_ about what you want?"

Harry gave her a lopsided, almost wolfish smile as he bent closer to her. "I already know."

The first thing Draco noticed when Granger finally switched the light off and came out of the bathroom was that she was pale. Really pale: a ghostly shroud of gray-white had settled over her face, and her dark eyes stared sunken and haunted from their white sockets. "Malfoy," she started, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"What?" He tried to sound unconcerned, but she looked so sick that he couldn't help but be pityingly curious.

She moved, as though in a trance, over to the chair she'd sat in earlier, and sank slowly into its dove-gray cushions. "Malfoy"

Draco looked at her from beneath raised eyebrows. "Yes, that is my name."

Granger inhaled audibly and fixed him with her spookily soulless gaze. "Malfoy, we had sex."

It took a moment for Draco to register what she'd said. "What? How do you know?"

She glared at him in a much more normal, Granger-ish way. "Well, not only am I suddenly not a virgin anymore-" Draco snorted very unsympathetically. "- but look at this." She fumbled in her robe pocket and pulled out a small glass globe, hinged on one side and filled with a milky sort of liquid. Flicking open the lid, Granger said shakily, "_Comperinomen_."

Draco almost laughed as the liquid floated from the container and Granger held up the note-filled parchment; the stuff was forming itself into a beige-colored quill and scratching something on the paper.

_Draco O. Malfoy_, it said in a curvy, glowing script. The quill collapsed into liquid once again and the lid snapped shut.

"Okay, it knows my name," Draco said. "What does that prove?"

Granger looked at him matter-of-factly. "This, right here?" She held up the sphere. "It's your sperm. And it" she winced with an expression of distaste. "was inside me."

He couldn't resist laughing full-out this time, and her hands flew to her hips in indignation, rising from the chair. "It's not a laughing matter, Malfoy! YOU HAD SEX WITH ME!"

"Oh, hang on just a moment, Granger. You were under the spell as well, so it was you, too, I bet." Draco pulled himself back into the chair and looked at her expectantly.

Granger was pacing back and forth now, pushing her unruly curls out of her face with the anxiously curled fingers of one hand. Her eyes were wild with stress, and she was muttering to herself. "Contraception yes, that's the first step then, then Dumbledore? No, I couldn't memory charms, an anti-Obliviate, I know there's a book but shit, I don't have it with me maybe Lavender's crystal ball? A Pensieve would be the best thing, but Dumbledore's got the only one yes, we'll have to see him oh, no, but that would be so horrible but we've got to do it and check for any infections but I don't know the spells, I'd have to see the hotel nurse but she'd ask too many questions" Her head snapped up. "Malfoy. Are any of your house-elves trained medically?"

Draco was becoming a little frightened. Granger was, quite honestly, freaking him out. "Er, yeah, Sisii's a nurse-elf," he said quickly.

She picked up her wand again and aimed it at her stomach, clothed in the very rumpled silk shirt she'd been wearing when they had drinks. "_Prohibeo Gravida,_" she said, and closed her eyes in discomfort as a shimmering, dark blue wave of light washed over her body.

"Smart," Draco remarked casually. He'd been reading up on Contraception Charms earlier, and this one would not only prevent pregnancy in the future but also abort any current ones.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically, scanning the bed area for something. "Have you seen my bag?"

Draco shook his head and stood up. "Must have, er, left it in the library," he said. "Where are you going?"  
"Well, first, we're going to go see Dumbledore," Granger told him, settling for grabbing a cloak from his closet and draping it around herself.

"No," Draco stated simply, sitting down again.

"_Yes,_" she told him emphatically as she crossed to the door. "If you don't go, I'll go anyway, and he'll come find you." Draco regarded her doubtfully. "Don't make me levitate you to his quarters."

"Fine," he conceded, and stood again, also taking a cloak.

"Was it the levitation that convinced you?" she asked bravely as they started down the hall.

He glared at her, and she smiled for the first time since waking up.

Ginny looked up at Harry from where she lay on the stone ground, her hair brushing the hedge-leaves behind them. With her shoes off, dress fully unlaced and the skirt hiked up to her hips, one would have thought she'd be cold, but Harry's earnest hands, like white-hot firebrands on her skin, warmed her at their touch. Right now those hands were doing something she really, really didn't want Ron to see, and therefore was glad he'd decided to take the night to research his project in the library.

Suddenly Harry's hand ventured into a part of her so heated that even his fingers were cold, and she gasped in shock and surprised pleasure. "Are you okay?" Harry said, quickly withdrawing his hand and backing up. "I'm sorry-"

Ginny glowered at him. "I'm _fine_," she said. "Or I was fine until you stopped."

Harry grinned shyly and leaned back over her, inserting his hand beneath her skirt again. Ginny closed her eyes and let out a shaky, quiet breath.

An hour later, he was lying next to her, arms wrapped possessively about her waist. His cloak served as a blanket for them. They hadn't _done_ it, but they'd gotten pretty close, which was fine for Ginny, and a relief for Harry, as he knew that, had he done it, either Hermione or Ron would have figured it out and he'd have been walking around with a black eye courtesy of the Weasley fist for several weeks. 

"So" she said between long kisses, "are you convinced?"

"Of what?" he muttered back. 

" me," she said throatily, pulling him closer again. "us"

Harry's eyes opened wide, blinding emerald that made Ginny squint. "God, yes," he said in disbelief. 

"Good," Ginny purred, and closed his eyes with her lips. 

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~~~Author's Note~~~

Well, I like this chapter. It was kind of hard to do and keep in the PG-13 area, but if you think it should be R, just tell me and I'll consider it. It's a little shorter than the last few I've done, but I liked ending it here, because there are going to be some BIG plot twists next chapter. But yay, Ginny and Harry are finally together! And, er, Hermione and Draco too, sort of, against their will, I guess I thought that was an interesting little turn of events stay tuned, because there's a lot more where that came from (not the sex, the turn of events bit, though no! Can't tell! You must read!)

Thanks ever so much to those who took the time to review this chapter!

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KeeperOfTheMoon- No hard feelings, okay? Thanks for obliging and taking it down. And yes, you were the first!

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Lilie Blaze- Yay! I always thought I was bad at writing suspense eh thanks, I liked the conversation too You're welcome!

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Wyrm- Thanks! Character is good!

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Emmy- Yeah, OMGOMG! I thought I'd introduce a separate plotline to make it a little more interesting, but this is the only chapter where it'll be split up like that. Just for variety.

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Felicity- Here you go!

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Avi- Thanks, I thought it was really funny, but not a lot of other people seemed to Okay, two days before Christmas! Close, right?

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Demonstar- Oookay sure

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- Thanks! I know I always download like 50 chapters of stories before I disconnect and take my laptop to bed so I can stay up til 3 AM reading fanfic

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S-Star- Hmmm a conundrum 

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JoKing- That would be interesting, but I recommend you stay around for a while and wait. It might happen in a, er, different way than you imagine.

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Wyrm- Didn't you already review? Okay, two reviews, two responses

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Lastjediprincess- I think so!

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Black Mage Zelda- Oh! That's so sweet! Not the frikin creepy' part, but saying I'm a great writer. I want to be a professional one.

~*~goldenberry~*~


	13. Missing Old Men and Secrets

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Shaelune

Part 13

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Missing Old Men and Secrets

Ireland was wet and verdant in the springtime, the smell of fresh earth rising from the foggy hillsides as rain poured down on them. The glass-and-brick inn nestled in those hills, its colored windows battered by the storms, was quiet and unassuming; it was early morning, but the clouds were so thick that they hid the faint sun. No students roamed the gardens so early in the day, so they were silent, their tiles flooded with rainwater and the roses turned thirstily up towards the sky. 

Twined together in a bed of dewy grass below a gnarled oak in the corner of the gardens, two travelers lay in exhausted sleep. The boy's shirt hung open on either side of his chest, exposing his English-pale but well-defined muscles; his stark black hair was disheveled, a combination of its normal disarray and limp sleep. His usual glasses were nowhere to be found. The girl, cradled in possessive arms, pressed her hot cheek against his shoulder and let her bright hair fall across his marble-Adonis stomach; her dress was crumpled in a pile of molten gold at the base of the tree.Like lovers in some Renaissance play, they would awake in a daze as fogged as the morning that swathed them in chilled steam. Though their memories would be clouded and dreamlike, they would understand the inexplicable sense of belonging and love that would bind them together for the next two years.

That same rain pounded, muffled, against the thin walls as Hermione and Draco ventured down the hallway toward the teachers' quarters. An uncomfortable silence had fallen between them, making Hermione uneasy and forcing her to occupy herself with a slim leather copy of _The Prince_. Sophisticated Muggle literature always felt to her like a subtle mockery of Malfoy, since it represented the very opposite of the bumbling idiots he considered non-wizards to be. He glanced over every now and then, eyeing the gilt lettering stamped on its front with a mixture of apprehension and interest. Hermione smiled inwardly and turned the page.

They rounded a corner, and suddenly were faced with a wall. Malfoy looked down again at the scroll on which a map of the inn was printed. 

"It says Professor Dumbledore's quarters' right here," he insisted, then gestured wildly at the dark, wooden barrier before them. "All I see is a wall."

Hermione folded her book back into the pocket of her skirt and stepped back, surveying the wall. 

Malfoy's glare deepened. "What, do Mudbloods have super-vision now?"

"I'm just checking for secret doors! God, you're insufferable!"

Malfoy cocked an eyebrow and sent a disdainful look over her, then turned back to his map. Hermione leaned carefully over his shoulder and held her wand, tip glittering warmly, close to the paper. "You're right," she admitted with a sigh. "I guess we're just not supposed to be here. Dumbledore must want us to do the projects entirely on our own."

"Stupid old arsehole," Malfoy muttered as he jammed the map into the inside of his robe. 

Hermione whipped around. "He is the most goodhearted and kind and wise wizard in the world, Malfoy," she hissed dangerously. "Don't insult him unless you want a good, firm kick to the balls."

Malfoy raised both eyebrows. "Ooh, threats from the five-foot witch in heels and a skirt. Really, Granger, I'm about to piss my trousers I'm so frightened."

Hermione scowled and fixed Malfoy with a heated glare, then kicked him squarely between the legs and stalked off. "Try impregnating me now, you inbred piece of shit!"

He waited until she was out of sight before crumpling to his knees in shock and pain.

Hermione walked in an angry furor through the entire mansion, taking the scenic route through hall after hall of sleeping portraits and flight after flight of spiraling stairs, until she found herself in the quaint café, heavily populated with students eating breakfasts of flaky pastries and fresh coffee. The sky was pale but gray; bright glare from the sun streamed through the picture windows, causing Hermione to shield her eyes as she scanned the crowd for two familiar heads of red hair. Spotting Ron, Harry and Ginny in a round booth by the entrance to the bar, she pushed past the onrush of teenagers and set out for them.

She knew something was wrong as soon as she met Ron's gaze. He gave her an icy glare, then averted his eyes, finding something extremely interesting in the gardens outside. Ginny was looking up at her, eyes beaming a message obviously of great import, but Hermione could not read it, and the youngest Weasley simply shook her head. Harry's head was buried in his hands; he was trembling slightly, and his hair was damp from the rain.

Hermione slid into the booth beside Ron, who quickly inched away from her, and leaned forward. "Are you three all right?"

Harry didn't answer, and Ron didn't even acknowledge her presence. Ginny winced. "We're fine- are- are _you_ okay, Hermione?"

"What are you talking about?" She laughed uneasily and stared into the coffee that had materialized in front of her moments earlier. "I'm great!"

"Happy for you," Harry mumbled from behind his hands. 

Reaching out instinctively, Hermione grasped his wrist and his head lifted. He looked fine, if a little tired and red-eyed. She dropped his arm and turned, gaze swiveling from Weasley to Weasley. "What is wrong? You're all acting so strange!"

"You should know," Ron spat, still not looking at her. "I'm sure _you're _fine."

"What are you TALKING about?" Hermione stood half up, supporting herself on the table and causing the coffee cups to rattle. The only things that would trouble them about her were things they would never know about. What she did with Malfoy was her business- Hermione scolded herself mentally. She hadn't done ANYTHING with him voluntarily! NOTHING!

Ginny and Harry were holding their breath as Ron slowly turned back to the angry brunette next to him. Everything else seemed to have gone silent as he spoke. "You _slept_ with him, Hermione," he whispered, sounding shocked and sad at his own words. "You. Had. Sex. With Malfoy.

"I saw you two in the library last night," Ron said scathingly, eyes boring into hers. 

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but words wouldn't come. She slowly sat down, trying to figure out- how- why- how could things have gone _this_ far? It was just supposed to be a school project

"It's not what you think, Ron," she said helplessly, though she knew he wouldn't believe her.

She was right. "It's exactly what I think! Damn it, Hermione, he was on _top _of you. You were _naked-_ both of you! What the _fuck_ would make you do that?" He was looking for a closing expletive, and settled for a vehement "Hell!"

"Please, Ron- it's not- Hermione would never do that," Ginny said softly, tears coming to her own eyes. 

Ron hadn't stopped looking at Hermione. "I thought so, too."

Harry was silent.

Hermione inhaled deeply and pressed her lips together, then looked upward to will the stubborn tears back into the recesses of her eyes. "I don't know what else to tell you."

Ron started impatiently. "You don't-"

Harry looked up, finally, face gray, and glared Ron into silence. "Tell us it's not true, that it was someone else. Anything."

Hermione felt the floodgates open and the hot sting of tears blur her vision. They wouldn't understand- there was no one- it was only Malfoy, but oh, it was so complicated and he was the only one who knew, he who she had never been able to talk to or be friends with. She was trapped in a cage with a venomous dragon and her friends were on the outside watching, clutching and pounding at the bars- pounding like the blood rushing to her head, echoing her heartbeat and the silent drums of Harry and Ron and Ginny's expectation. 

"I can't- I can't tell you," she gasped finally, choking back the sobs and hating herself and everyone else all at once. Then, trying to compose herself and failing, she stood shaking and managed to collapse inside the bar before the tears came rushing out in a frantic painful flood of teenage emotion and angst.

Walking with a limp, Draco made his way down to the lobby for breakfast. Granger's angry heel-marks were stamped into the brown carpet like footprints in snow, and he followed them at leisure, stopping every now and then to refresh the Chilling Charm he'd cast on his- er- area. He expected her to be laughing it up as usual, pretending he didn't exist, with the Weasels and Potter, but she wasn't there; they all glared hotly at him as he walked by, so he raised a returning eyebrow in curiosity. Weasley gave him the finger; Draco twirled his wand and made an even ruder gesture with it. The Weasel Princess blushed, even giggling a little. He smirked flirtatiously at her before he vanished into the dark space of the empty bar, following the new trail of Granger-prints.

He found her slumped in a shadowy corner, a pitiful pile of brown hair and arms thrown askew as she sobbed quietly. A barely-touched goblet of familiar violet liquid rested on the glossy black table beside her. Sliding into the seat across from her, he sat silently, not sure what to do- every cry ripped from her throat tore uneasily at his heartstrings, but he never comforted anyone.

"He knows," she finally whispered, and slowly looked up, brown curls falling out of her face and eyes that were a pool of dark quicksand drawing him in. 

Ripping himself away from her invasive, deathly eyes, he responded. "Who- who knows?"

"_Ron_," she hissed. "He saw us in the library last night!"

Sarcasm escaped him before he could choke it back. "At last, a witness." 

"Ugh!" Granger let a half-smile tug at the corners of her mouth. "You're such a pervert, Malfoy."

"I'm good at what I do," he shot back, feeling a rush of triumph at having cheered her up without patting her back and whispering "It's okay, it's okay"

Although he would- sort of- like to do that.

Her shoulders were still shaking with hiccups of mixed tears and sighs, her head was still bent. And- indirectly, but still- he had done this to her. Maybe if he hadn't been so cruel, so blatantly uncaring, maybe the perfect enigma of a witch sitting across from him wouldn't be crying so hard.

But then the sensitive regret tentatively rising in his mind was overpowered and killed by the angry Malfoy heritage that forced his entire life into a predetermined path, never asking, never stopping; he wanted to cry out, too, to stop the onrush of slurs and hate and violence that pounded like stormwater through his veins, cold and pale and turning them to stone- cry out and reach for her like a golden rock holding steadfast through the thunder. Hermione Granger could pull him from the silent surrender he fell into again and again and again, pushed and diving and tossed by frozen rain and chilling winds. He hated it, feared it, and yet let it take him again and again, like a loved rapist. No- not a person, an entity, a horrible, awful drug, mind-blowing opium lit with ice and giving rise to perfect endless fumes. Addictive. Dangerous.

Fatal.

Hermione watched as Malfoy's eyes, eyes that moments ago had been silver fires sparked with wit and victory, slowly froze over and his light smirk hardened into the oh-so-Malfoy sneer she knew so well. He turned the eyes on her, glaring at her, quiet and alarmingly knowing.

"So what if Weasley saw? Probably got a kick out of it, he doesn't get any by himself, does he?"

Hermione felt a defiant blush rising in her cheeks. "Malfoy, I-"

"Does it look like I care?" He reached into his pocket and long fingers found a rough gold coin, which he shoved onto the table in front of her. "You're so fucking _honorable_ that you'll never take the simple way out, will you? Just make it easy on yourself for once."

"What easy way out?" she asked quietly, not meeting his eyes.

"Tell them I raped you."

Hermione watched him fade into the silver sunlight. _It was nice of him to pay,_ she thought absently as she fingered the coin, her delayed-shocked mind refusing to process what he'd just said. 

Tell them he'd raped her.

Now that she thought about it, it made perfectly good sense. They all knew Malfoy was a sodding wanker. It was completely in character for him to do something stupid and dangerous and brazen, like raping a muggleborn. If Harry or Ron or someone went to Dumbledore well, they wouldn't be able to go to Dumbledore, would they? He was absent-without-leave for the time being, and by the time he returned, she and Malfoy could tell Dumbledore the truth. And it wasn't like she cared much about Malfoy's feelings.

That Raisin Tempest was looking pretty appealing right about now; Hermione reached for the glass and curled two fingers around it, admiring the glasswork that carved a sparkling emerald vine around the stem and rimmed the glass with jewel-sugared grapes. She could smell the headily aromatic rum already. _Why not?_ she argued, tilting the bowl to see the thickness of the liquid. After all, Malfoy had already paid for it. Couldn't hurt.

She downed it in the first swallow.

Draco stalked outside to find some shade from that headache-inducing glare; he spotted a leafy trellis over a stone wall a few dozen yards away, and had already sat down on one of the cold benches before he realized where he was.

The courtyard looked no different than it had three days ago, when he had last been here. The pool's waters rested dark and dormant; the strange white flowers along the wall still bloomed fragrantly. The stone was damp from last night's rain.

And then, without warning, the ache in his head switched to a sharp, urgent pain on the left side of his chest, which shocked his muscles enough to collapse him to the flagged ground. He found that the closer he got to the courtyard exit, the less pain there was; by the time he had crawled his way back to the café patio, the pain was just a dull ache in the left side of his ribcage. He stopped moving and leaned back against the cool wall of the mansion.

Just when he thought the pain had receded, it stabbed back, so hard and fast and sharp that he almost expected blood to pour from his chest. _Where now?_

Going inside seemed to work; it lessened as he passed the now-empty table that the Weasels had shared with Potter earlier, and spread faintly when he entered the bar. The booths and barstools were completely empty, as though a teacher had scoured the room. But of course, that wasn't right. Dumbledore and McGonagall had vanished.

And the room wasn't completely empty

Draco's eyes found the unconscious Granger across the empty room, and realized exactly how stupid he had been.

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~~~Author's Note~~~

God, guys, I am so sorry this took this long! I have been really busy with school, but that's not really an excuse. Anyway, this is kind of a bridge chapter to hold you over until I can really put some work into it. I hope you liked it; I got some ammunition from watching _Moulin Rouge_ like three times last week (don't ask me why that helps, it just does). I should probably work on One Lesson Left and Anyone Perfect Must Be Lying and I will. When I can. But thank you so much for reviewing! It makes my day! And more than anything keep reading! I promise it will get better!

LF,

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~goldenberry~


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